


Sword Art Online Alternative: Specter

by enigmaticfejj



Category: Sword Art Online (Anime & Manga)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28053570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticfejj/pseuds/enigmaticfejj
Summary: The Hunt is on! After the War for the Underworld ends, an online rumor among a cult following spreads: Kayaba lives. Now, Seijirou Kikouka, having witnessed Kayaba's resurgence at the Ocean Turtle, assembles an unlikely team to pursue the digital ghost and the new trail he's leaving across the Seed Nexus.
Kudos: 2





	1. A Specter's Reach/A Long Night

Mylo

ALO: 20:24

I pull over my hood and wrap a dusty cloak over my ported gear as Slyph crowds wander Swilvane’s cobblestone streets. Everyone’s colors match the emerald city’s theme: lime hair for player’s avatars, jade-colored cloaks, wandering green eyes fascinated with this virtual world. Players and guilds stop at NPC merchants along the packed roads to trade gear—or to find a tavern, somewhere to be social in the overlapping voices. I think those are tambourine’s and horns playing folk music in the distance, swelled with an aroma of—bakery bread? Every update makes these worlds harder to distinguish from reality. The streetlamps glow as a simulated sunset begins.

I look up ahead. So much for atmosphere—the targets—five green haired Slyphs: Two with bastard swords on their waists, a shield bearer with a short sword, a player robed, probably a mage, and a little runt in the lead--the target. Their pack walks the streets after exiting another tavern. The mage is new, must’ve picked her up.

They stick to crowds, never in open isolated spaces--sympathizers of Akihiko Kayaba stay suspicious of their surroundings. Makes sense. They’re an insulated cult, hiding in university bubbles and recesses of the net since membership flags a lot of hate. And they still justify that even after the SAO incident, even after 4,000 lives lost, there’s a “scientific” merit to trapping people in a game against their will--a means to push human consciousness forward.

Disgusting.

As if my stare permeates through their backs, the lead runt slightly turns his head, peaking over his shoulder, scanning the crowd. They do that past every street corner or lamp post, predictable--I step aside, under the threshold of a tavern. They’re not on to me, not yet. Will they leave Swilvane now? ALO protects factions in their host cities, so they can’t be damaged—intimidation for intel won’t work—and I want to enjoy this. They turn the street corner.

I wait more than a few seconds before I approach a stone-faced building at the corner and listen: The crunch of their boots on uneven road, the clanking of their swords and armor with their steps, they’re far enough. I peek around the corner. An ornate tower absorbs the skyline view, bearing over the taverns, shops and residencies below. Walking in the shadows under the monolithic spire, the target heads towards the city exit as the crowd thins out. It must be time. I could increase my tailing distance if I use a tracking spell—no, don’t need it. The moment they step foot outside, I’ll have them. I only need to force a log out from the leader.

\---

I watch the wings of the Slyph party glisten and spread wide to fly from a tower balcony. The second they head towards the forest, to neutral territory, they’ll be vulnerable.

I leap from the cobblestone street as my wings trigger and jettison me towards the open sky. I _feel_ the gale of wind howling in my face as I launch. A rushing pulse surges through my hands and my lightweight avatar. Immediately, I’m hovering in the sky—Swilvane’s far below, just green motes and the immense tower in the city’s center. I look out in the distance. Green glittering wings glide between the sky in purple haze and dense forest. I take a deep breath and place a hand on my chest—my heart races—look out for me dad.

I take a deeper breath, lean in the direction of the targets and shoot forward, piercing through the wind and darting straight for their green figures, growing closer, and then for the first mid-guard sheathing a bastard sword. They’ll hear my approach, they might even see it, but it’ll be too late. The rearguard turns, sees me spearing their way and hails, their voice close enough to carry over the wind:

“Contact!”

Too late. I swing an airborne kick, round housing one of their mid-guard just as their squad halts mid-air. The mid-guard, shocked and off-balance, spirals down to the tree line. I withdraw my cloak and draw my double-bladed Sonic buster, rounded blades on polar ends of a wide bandaged hilt. I viciously swing with tears in my eyes, memories surging, slashing one blade into the remaining mid-guard swordsman face-first as he tries drawing his blade. His avatar explodes into lingering green flame, trapped in the respawn animation. _Two down._

A firebolt blazes over my shoulder; a second blows me backwards in a plume of smoke. I twist around. In front, the sword-shield user, and the mage with golden glyphs encircling her, chanting a spell. I glance back over my shoulder as the lead runt scrambles through the air to escape. _He’s leaving his companions as the distraction_.

“Who are you?!”

 _How cliché_. I windmill my Sonic Buster as I anticipate the next firebolt. The orange blaze launches towards me; I feel the heat on my face. I dodge the blast and keep eyes on the mage, but the sword-shield user is missing. The wind wails from below.

_Down!_

I swing my lower blade on instinct as it blocks a one-handed sword swinging for my legs and lower wings. A resounding clang rings in my ears. Lower blade’s charged. The sword-shield user grits their teeth as they look up at me. I’m hovering parallel to him now. I grin back; I can’t help it. I spin around with my Sonic Buster, using the lower blade to guide his body upwards as he follows through with his strike. I quickly rotate, and with the sword-shield user above me, my upper blade digs through his back and out the other side of his chest before he can raise his shield. Red polygons pour from the stab wound. I won’t feel remorse for smiling.

Suddenly, a blaze launches in a constant burst towards the two of us. The mage. She’s willing to take out both of us. I quickly pull my blade out of the cultist’s back. A sword skill illuminates the lower blade of the Sonic Buster: stored kinetic energy from the blocked strike, ready to rebound as sound energy. The cloud of fire approaches. I thrust the blade through the air < _Reverb: Repulse_ > and a deafening bass dissipates the fire around me for a moment—it’s still coming, getting hotter, and I’m getting caught up. The real target took off too long ago. Thick black smoke clouds form all around; I dive under. Hopefully she’ll take a few seconds before she realizes I’m—

A deluge of purple orbs, volleys of umbral elements, sludge over my wings; my air speed drops. I look up. The mage flies parallel over me with golden words and chants encircling her again. Damn it!

A barrage of hellfire, fireballs with oozing purple cores, rains, seemingly infinite. I can’t block these. I should’ve gone for the mage first; I was getting ahead of myself. Long range magic opponents are my natural weakness here. I keep my eyes forward as I feel the heat growing closer. I probably can’t outfly the firestorm with my weighted wings, but I’ll be damned if I can’t reach my target. Fire bolts strike my wings and back. I see my health bar drop into the yellow, and I hear more chanting from above. Another round of fire incoming.

A whistle cuts through the air.

It’s something launched, something fast and from behind. The chanting stops. I look up as I fly. The mage plummets towards me with an arrow in her back, and on a collision course for the forest below. _It must be—_

“Kid, what’s taking you so long?” A crackle irritatingly asks through my game’s com. Arimoto-sensei.

“Sorry, sorry, just got caught up.” I was about to screw it up.

He groans. “Think you can finish the mission phase?”

“With that one gone, now I can.”

“You’re lucky you’ve got me then, huh?”

“Wait for me IRL.”

“Sheesh, does the youth not say ‘thank you’ these days?”

Old man. I chuckle. I press on through the sky. I look ahead. No sight of glistening wing dust. The old man would have called me back if the target logged out, which means—

I land beneath the forest tree-line. The leader must be pressing on through the forest to hide; it’s a footrace. I switch into a steady running pace, and with the lighter sensation of this avatar body, that stride explodes into a near-sprint. I push off the fallen shrubbery and twigs with the balls of my feet, just like my college freshmen days. Scattered sunlight blurs, almost kaleidoscopic, between the bushes and leaf canopies of the gargantuan trees. At this rate I’ll catch up to areas he _should’ve_ reached by now—I hear bushes rustling. I stop—just before a colossal two-handed blade swings in my frontal view and I sidestep away.

Catch your footing.

I pivot on my front foot and twist around to face the butt of a hilt coming down over the bridge of my nose; I catch it with a free hand, but a side-kick to my chest launches me back. It’s him, the target, and he rushes in as I try to recover from the backwards momentum. Figures he needs to get rid of any security breach. Can’t have someone butting into Kayaba’s fan-club, I guess.

“Who the hell are you!?” The runt shouts as he raises his sword high, ready to strike down and split my avatar in half.

"A reckoning.” I smile.

The runt hesitates. I swing my Sonic Buster, and our blades cross with a brilliant chime. < _Reverb: Repulse_ >! The propulsion of sound launches him through shrubs, tree trunks, and further still. I sprint after his body. I cross the Sonic Buster in front of me, primed for a midsection slice. The target hasn’t regained mid-air momentum as he keeps falling back from the force. I draw within range, face to face, staring into his scowl and terrified stare. Good. I slash across his torso, clearly cutting through his avatar as red polygons geyser between his new two-halves.

“You’ll see in the next five minutes, Seijirou Sanji, 2 Chome-12-1 Ookayama, Meguro City, Tokyo Institute of Technology, dorm room 26.” I smile.

The target’s eyes shoot wide-open, holding his breath. His avatar disassembles pixel by pixel until a luminous blue haze wisps in place of him.

Log-out. Phase 2 accomplished.

I swipe my hand in front of me to pull up my own player menu. I scroll over to the Log-out menu. Phase 3’s next.

The bright green forest fields of ALO fade in my periphery as white light flashes in my vision. I feel my regular sensations returning—more weight in my legs, palms curled on cold steel armrests, cream walls plastered with posters of blown up manga covers, shelves full of plushies and figures, a strong whiff of cheap cologne and instant-noodles, a young man’s dorm room.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

I blink once. Twice. Across from me with their back turned is Arimoto-sensei, Ari, the old man himself, reverse leaning in a chair and wearing a beige pea-coat and a black face mask pulled up past his ears. Sandy hair stays tied up in a tail over his fade cut.

Past him, against the wall and on a mattress just small enough for his body, scrunches Seijirou Sanji. He looks just as scrawny in-game with short black hair, duct-taped frames for glasses, and lanky arms shaking under a long t-shirt.

“Please, stay back! What do you want?!” Sanji screams.

\---

“Easy, easy,” Ari goads. “Kid, take a deep breath. We’re not here to hurt you.” Ari turns around to face me. I’m just getting used to the sensation of walking again as I slouch out of this uncomfortable chair. I crane my neck.

“Geeze, what’d you do to the kid?” Ari asks me. “You took a long time when all you had to do was spook him with his address.”

“I decided to indulge a little.” Seeing Sanji huddled and trembling on his bed—it’s the least bastards like him deserve. “I just wanted him to imagine what could happen if he didn’t give us what we wanted.”

Sanji shrinks back. “Wha—what do you want with me?”

Ari sighs and turns back to Sanji. “Look, I apologize about my partner, he’s—enthusiastic--But listen,” Ari leans in. “We do need to ask you some important questions.”

“About what?” Sanji still shakes.

“Who reached out to you, told you to meet with those kids this evening? They were pretty avid fans of one Kayaba Akihiko. Heard of em?” Ari finishes.

Sanji grits his teeth. “How do you know--?”

“Should’ve been more careful with your net traffic. You never know who’s monitoring image boards these days, or about the rats lurking on the dark web.” I interject. Ari glances back at me, but then nods. We’ll do this good-cop, bad-cop then.

“We want to know who you connected with online before you met with them; who instructed you to meet with them?” Ari looks Sanji in the eye.

“Co—connected with?” Sanji asks.

“Yes,” Ari nods. “There’s been a lot of online traffic to boards lately, lots of fantasizing over Kayaba.”

“Is that why scumbags like you’ve been recruiting young gamers to join your cult following?” I ask.

Sanji pauses, hands still shaking, but then he takes a deep breath. “I—I can’t tell you that.”

“What was that?” I storm over and grip Sanji by the collar. I lift him above his bed, pressing and wiping him against a squealing window behind him. “Go on, spit it out! Who was your contact?!”

“I don’t know!” Sanji chokes. I feel Ari grip my shoulder and guide me back. I let go and listen for outside: no footsteps in the dorm halls, no chatter on the other sides of walls. We’re still clear, but I definitely lost my cool.

“You don’t know because the contact was anonymous, is that it?” Ari asks while Sanji catches his breath. Sanji keels over his bed, but looks up, out of the corner of his eye, watching me, watching for more retaliation.

“If that’s so, let me ask you something else then,” Ari follows-up. “Why the current net traffic, why the new recruitment?

“There’s a lot of excitement—over some online rumors in the community—” Sanji murmurs.

Ari shifts in his chair and makes eye contact with me out the corner of his eye. I fold my arms, taking that in. This is it.

“What rumors?” Ari asks.

“Rumors—that—someone’s sending instructions to people in intellectual circles, people with—Intimate knowledge of the net and the SEED, philosophers, psychologists, people of the future, ya know? Someone new’s really pushing the community to change the narrative—about the SAO incident—it’s like a—giant PR campaign, but it’s never been this energized before.”

I scoff. _Intellectual circles?_ What’s intellectual in collaborating with a mass-murderer? That rumor lines up with our intel though. That _someone_ could very well be the man himself.

Ari crosses his palms under his chin. “Another question.”

Sanji gulps but nods. He’s backed against the wall.

“Do you have any information, anything—that would make you an accomplice to Kayaba Akihiko?”

_Good bait._

“How could I be an accomplice to a dead man?” Sanji scoffs and smiles. _He’s smiling_. Maybe he’s adjusting to the surreal of his situation. We might need to jostle him again to throw him off, or—he’s just genuinely energized to discuss anything Kayaba. I stuff balled fists in my pocket. This college kid shouldn’t be getting to me, but just the thought of it, that people could be so callous to lives sacrificed for the dreams of a madman— _What about us who don’t get that luxury?_

Sanji eases his posture. After a deep breath, he pauses, then looks up at Ari, eye-to-eye this time. “Unless—it’s true, and he really has digitized his consciousness? Immortal?” Sanji smiles, relived. Revolting. I never want to see that expression from thoughts of that man. I rush Sanji and press him against the wall, my arm to his neck, but Ari pulls me back, forcefully this time. Sanji coughs, leaning against the wall and laughing, almost delirious, like he just confirmed the second-coming. “It makes sense now—he must be planning something big, something that’ll shake up our world again--” Sanji smiles with parted breath. “He’ll change everything.”

Something big? _He must have an inkling to knowing more than he’s letting on—whereabouts, someone else who does know_? Ooook—I reach behind my back pocket, and Sanji flinches immediately. I pull out a roll of duct tape; the elastic tearing fills the new void of silence, and finally, I can get him to shut up as I rip off a strip and slap it over his mouth. I grab the uncomfortable chair and bring it around.

“Seriously?” Ari sighs before grabbing Sanji by the arm and sitting him down. I lean by Sanji and revolve the roll over him and the armrests.

“How high up in the building is this dorm room again?” I ask Ari. He shrugs.

Just then, a door knock.

“Sanji! Everything ok?” A female voice calls from the other side.

 _Shhhit_.

Everyone freezes in the incessant rebounding knocks. What kind of Otaku has physical guests at this hour?!

“Sanji! Hellooooo?!” The door handle rotates, clicks, then struggles with the lock. “I know you’re offline; Your friends said they saw you log out? You can’t keep neglecting me this way! I’m your girlfriend! I’m coming in one way or another, tonight!”

I glare down at Sanji in disbelief. He looks up and shrugs in panic.

Ari glances at me. How high up _is_ this room? I rush to the window over Sanji’s bed and unlatch the pane. Brisk nighttime air brushes past my cheeks.

I look down--easily a two-story drop. I look over my shoulder back at Ari and sigh. Down’s the only way out. We can’t make contact with more people here, we’re still covert. I’m not even “officially” in this country.

Ari groans as he walks across the room. He’s on the same page and out the window first. I hurry to Sanji, put a finger over my lips, and then slowly peel the tape off his.

“Make a sound, and things’ll get nasty.”

Sanji, tape off, only nods.

“Remember, we know where you stay, and now we know you got somebody. Got it?”

Sanji nods as I untie the duct tape arm restraints and stuff them in my back pocket.

“We’ll continue this conversation later.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a burner phone. I place it in his shaky palms. “Keep it on you and wait; we’ll know if you don’t.”

Sanji just nods, that earlier brazen admiration vanished, just wild-eyed fear. We’ll call him for more intel later, and he’ll cooperate. These kids don’t have real devotion; they just haven’t suffered under Kayaba like the rest of us. That autumn nighttime air chips across my face as I walk over to the window and clamber over it. I look down on shrubbery and a flowerbed below. No Arimoto-sensei. He must’ve gone to secure the ride.

I turn back to face Sanji: “I don’t need to explain to keep quiet about everything that happened here tonight, right? You’re an _intellectual_ after all--”

_Whock. Whock. Whock._

Sanji jolts, slumps like a limp doll in his chair, and thuds onto the floor.

What?

Blood trails down his agape mouth, gasping for air. A pool forms. My body stiffens, fight or flight spiking in my nerves. I see his back on the floor: three entry bullet wounds, three holes through his door to match. Sanji reaches up towards me, gurgling speech as dark film clouds over his eyes. I swing back into the room; I can still—

Splinters explode around the doorknob with two more suppressed shots. A third makes a sharp chink, the chain lock severing.

_SHIT!_

I hear the door slam across the wall as I dive out the window with no time to get a visual on the assailant. I turn on my side midair--and crack and scrape against the concrete walkway.

In the heat of it, I missed the flowerbed.

\---

Pain warbles across my entire right side as I run down the sidewalk, passing trees and lit windows on the first floor. The corner of the dorm building is up ahead. I immediately turn it and peak around, back up at Sanji’s window. A female figure appears in the light, but it’s impossible to make out. Does Kayaba have so much influence to keep someone quiet, or is someone else following our same intel? A third party? Who else would want him?

_Kikuouka, what aren’t you telling us?_

Headlights flash in my periphery. I turn. A modest brown sedan stops beside me and rolls down its passenger window. Arimoto-sensei leans over. “You always—

“Shots fired!” I shout.

Ari’s face tenses as I unlock the door and hop in. The tires screech.

“Call Kikouka.” Ari twists the wheel as the car swerves around. I reach into my pocket with sharp pain in my side and pull out my phone. I start dialing, but the phone already rings from an unknown number. I pick up and place it to my ear.

A nonchalant voice: “Ah, Mylo-san, can you put me on speaker, please?” _Kikouka, did he know?_ I press speaker so Ari can hear too.

“Kikouka-dono.” Ari says as he keeps his eyes on the road.

“Gentlemen, I’m glad I was able to get in touch with you. I intercepted some intel that a 3rd party was converging on you and the target’s location.”

“Who?” I ask.

“Unknown still.” Kikouka’s voice scratches across the speaker. The Tokyo Institute of Technology’s campus blurs in the windshield as Ari keeps his foot on the gas. “Were you able to extract any information on our digital ghost?”

I can’t stop thinking about that kid—how he got roped into something like this—because of Kayaba. “No, the target’s dead.” I fall deeper into the car seat. The engine rumbling fades into shrill ringing. The gunshots. Those eyes--only three years younger than mine.

“I see, that’s unfortunate.” Kikouka manages. “Your covers?”

“Still clear.” Ari manages. He turns the car onto the highway. Headlights bear past his face as he pulls down his mask and reveals cleanly shaved stubble around his neck and sharp jawline. The bags under his eyes are more pronounced. “And he was just a small-fry; We’re at a dead end.” Ari grimaces behind the wheel as the other side of the line goes silent.

Can we even catch a digital ghost with person-to-person methods and interrogation? They may be a cult following, but there’s a real hierarchy of need-to-know information going on with this group. Maybe there’s a way to trace Kayaba’s signature across the net or the SEED Nexus? Something with source code he developed that would still be unique to his digital persona?

“Mylo, do you have an idea?” As if Kikouka could read my silence without contact. I hate that about him. He plays it casual, but can easily weaponize his perception of people.

“Kikouka, what about a trace across the net or the SEED Nexus for Kayaba himself?” I ask.

“Uhhh, I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Kikouka mutters. “In order to do that, we’d need code as complex as Kayaba’s digital apparition, practically another digitized copy of a person, but with source code from the SAO server like himself.”

Digitized human consciousness with SAO source code--“What about an Artificial Fluctlight AI?”

“I’m not sure that would work—and my new deceased status makes it difficult to interact with RATH right now. The Japanese government is also having talks about locking down the Ocean Turtle-- we can’t take a fluctlight’s lightcube without causing a political firestorm. We need to covertly handle this.”

“Alice?” I ask. “She’s outside the cluster.”

“The current directorship at RATH overseeing Alice’s wellbeing has a—complicated history with Kayaba. I highly doubt they’d loan her for this operation.”

“So you’re telling me there’s no one else?” I sigh.

“Well—I’d just rather not get him involved—” Kikouka trails off.

“Kikouka-dono,” Ari says. “Another kid is dead, and frankly, sir, we’re running out of options.” Ari’s right. Sanji’s more collateral from the SAO aftermath, just like the GGO incident and all the other invisible battles survivors have been facing since returning to the real-world.

A sigh on the other line. “I’ll see what I can do. For now, return home; get some rest, and await further instructions.” The call drops.

Ari and I sigh and sit in silence for a while. The humming highway returns as the ringing in my ears fades. My heart hasn’t stopped beating against my chest. The skin on my arm starts burning, chafes from smearing across the sidewalk; the adrenaline must be wearing off.

“You ok?” Ari says.

“My arm hurts, so I’ll probably ice it up tonight.” I sigh.

“I’m glad you have a recovery plan, but that’s not what I meant.”

“Huh?”

“I know you’ve trained, but you haven’t actually seen combat or fatalities like that before, right?” Ari asks.

In my right arm I feel flames down in my bones—like fighting that mage. It’s a good distraction. “I hate the people praising Kayaba, but that doesn’t mean Sanji deserved to die—he was just a kid.”

“So are you.” Ari says. “You’ve had to grow up fast, I’ll give you that, but there are some things—well, I’m not one to talk. What I mean is, you gonna be all right?”

“Yea. Besides, if I took a seat on the sidelines now, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“It took 5 minutes longer for you to log out of ALO than expected.” Ari gets to his _real_ point. I got ahead of myself on-mission, and with my background--“You ever think you’re maybe too close to this?” Ari asks.

I turn away from the conversation and stare out the window, at passing cars and headlights on the other side of the highway. City lights under a full moon from Tokyo’s distant skyscrapers. Dad was going to bring me here, eventually. “I have a feeling my connection’s the reason Kikouka flew me out here in the first place. Some people might ask: why bother chasing a digital ghost? But Kayaba’s influence on our world right now is very real.” No one knows, but a shadow war might be starting in this city, in VR and reality.

“Personally, whether it’s just a copy or the man himself, the survivors of SAO never really got justice for what they went through.” Ari sighs, keeping his eyes on the road. “Kayaba evaded all of that when he fried his own brain. That’s thousands of people with no closure. So, if he is still out in cyberspace somewhere, and if we do get a chance to fix even some of that, then I’m all game, but--”

I turn to Ari, looking more exhausted the closer we get to his home.

“Kid,” He says. “Don’t let your personal feelings get in the way of that. We’re not just going to bring him in for the people lost, we’re going to bring him in for the living too. We’ll catch Kayaba, ghost or not.”


	2. The Forgotten Knight/Lavender Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After reaching a dead end, Kikuoka enlists the help of an unlikely ally to join the hunt. Mylo and Arimoto recoup.

Eiji & YUNA

Tokyo: 13:02

Hot summer air blows through as couple’s laugh on walks down the sidewalks in the shopping district downtown. I watch families stop inside pastry shops and boutiques. So much chatter, even over the rumbling engines in the streets or the squeals of the rails in Shibuya. The atmosphere of smiles, sunlight, and laughter breathe life here, but so much of it feels—detached. I’ve never experienced the family atmosphere—the one thing everyone agrees on is staying hands-off with me, and I’m not sure I’d call today a couple’s outing either. I can feel the sagging weight behind my eyes with a yawn coming on. Caffeine is calling. I continue people watching as I cross by stopped traffic, and I notice very other person wearing Dr. Shigemura’s augmented reality headset, the Augma. If they knew--

“Eiiiiiji.”

I follow that wandering voice in my head. On my left: Yuna’s AR avatar, white-hair in twin braids, searching ruby eyes, and wearing a white top and single-buttoned black overalls. Her new ability to change outfits helps her blend in with reality almost too well. If I weren’t the only one that could see her through my Augma, anyone would mistake her for a real pedestrian. She’s blurred that line for a while now—not being physically here, but I’m not sure I can call her _just_ an A.I. either—

“Eiiiiji.” Her digital avatar tugs on my jacket sleeve in AR. I can’t tell if she wants the attention or doesn’t want to watch me get lost in my head. “Where are we going?” She asks.

“Just to grab some coffee, Yuna.” The café shouldn’t be too much further, just another block and a crosswalk.

“In the middle of the day?” She probes.

“You might not get tired, but we stayed up really late farming for gear upgrades in ALO last night.” Just thinking about it makes me yawn. I’d like to blame some of my rabbit-hole thoughts today on sleep-deprivation.

“It wouldn’t have taken so long if you hadn’t tried to go it alone.” Yuna pouts. Her red eyes shimmer in the sunlight when she gets riled up.

“What do you mean? I had you.” I shrug. Her language capabilities are getting more complex too. She almost feels like—

“You know that’s not what I mean, Naut.” She plops her hands on her hip and leans into my space. None of the pedestrians by me would understand my sudden jerk back as I stop in the middle of the street. Footsteps and bodies move around me.

_Naut_ , short for Nautilus, my SAO name _,_ old memories of Yuna when she was alive, of our time together in SAO. Sometimes they resurface in phrases this Yuna says, or full-on nostalgic trips, like she’s the same. Even her determined gaze meeting my eyes reminds me of the way she would—the intent is _exactly_ the same as if she’s lingering behind this avatar, still here. Those SAO memories her A.I. has are real; they fused with the programming after the Ordinal Scale incident, but—is it fair to say they’re the same person still? Who is the real Yuna?

“Eiiiiiji.” The A.I. in her again.

“Hmm?” I keep walking forward before stopping in front of a crosswalk and the flashing red stop.

“You’re doing it again.” She means thinking too loudly.

“Sorry, Yuna.” I stare at the stoplight. I can’t look at her when I’m confused like this; I don’t want to confuse her either.

“When are you going to reach out to Kirito and the others?” She says as her face pushes into my periphery. She’ll never let me bullshit out of a talk. She continues: “You really should drop in on them and say hi someday, ya know, be friendly?”

_That’s—complicated_. True, Kirito, SAO’s Black Swordsman, did help me save the Yuna standing here now, and he probably knows I came to help his side against PoH in the Underworld, but should I reach out? If I’d had my way, every SAO survivor, he and his friends included, could’ve died. I didn’t know the extent of Dr. Shigemura’s plans, but I helped. One good act couldn’t possibly put me in their graces. The crosswalk light flicks green. Yuna and I move through the walking crowd. A small rose-colored café wedged between boutiques is up ahead.

“You might be overestimating my relationship with them.” I sigh.

“Naut!” Yuna groans. The change startles me again.

“Sorry,” I chuckle instinctively. Lost in my head as always. I reach for the handle to the glass entrance door when another hand beats me to it. I look to my left past Yuna. A man dressed in suit and tie adjusts his clear-rimmed glasses. He nervously chuckles and pulls the door open.

“Sorry, sorry! After you?” He smiles.

“Uh, right, thank you.” I step in. Yuna’s avatar vanishes in front of the door in blue-pixel light then appears inside the café with another flash. She swings her legs back and forth while sitting at the edge of a table. The café walls look freshly painted in the same rose color as outside. I walk past Yuna and up to the marble counter up front to order. A barista comes around from the back and posts behind the register.

“Hello! What can I get you?” She smiles.

“I’ll have—”

“A regular coffee with a cream and a sugar, and a chocolate mousse for me, please.” The clear-rimmed glasses man speaks up behind me. “It’ll be on me.” He steps up to the counter and draws yen from his wallet. I won’t object to a free drink.

“I hope you don’t mind, you just seemed like the type to stick to a safe bet.” He says.

\---

Our booth against the window overlooks the street view and pedestrian traffic. I let the man who bought the coffee join Yuna and I. It’s being chivalrous; I’m just not any good at small talk with strangers. Yuna brightly smiles at me as I take a hot sip of the fresh brew, both of them warm up my mood. She’s probably thinking I made a friend. _If I did, I wouldn’t pick someone so much—older_. The man rolls over his slice of cake with a fork. As he scoops in a bite, he leans over the table, and the sunlight glares across his glasses to hide his eyes.

“It’s easier to have a good conversation with a satisfied pallet, so I’ll get right to the point, Eiji.” The man adjusts his glasses as I tense up under the table. He knows my name.

“Is Yuna still with you?” The man asks simply.

I shoot up from the booth as the coffee mug chinks and rattles on the table. The café stays silent. It’s just us and the barista here, so no onlookers. Was this planned? A trap for Yuna? How does he know? “Who are you?”

“Officially,” The man frowns. “I’m no one, not anymore, but you’d probably know me as the former head of the SAO incident task force, Seijirou Kikuoka.”

I stay on my toes. Yuna gazes up at me with a frown; I’m not sure she’s fully gauged the potential danger we’re in. “What do you want with me, or with Yuna? What do you know? Did Kirito tell you?!”

Kikuoka calmly puts down his fork. He reaches for a napkin on the table and wipes the corners of his lips with an ambiguous smile. “No. The debriefs after what happened in the Underworld gave me some interesting suspicions, how the two of you were sighted defending Kirito’s comatose body from PoH himself, and you yourself just confirmed it.”

Kikuoka takes a moment to read me. Now I can see his black eyes behind the glasses, analytical, unknown. He shifts his body language by taking in another piece of cake. “I promise you’re not in any danger, but I do need to talk about something important with you. To be frank, I need your help.”

“Why should I help you?” I ask, holding my breath at his mercy. This all feels too much like when Shigemura roped me into using Ordinal Scale to revive Yuuna.

Kikuoka reaches inside his suit pocket and pulls out a small black book with the white imprint of the castle Aincrad as a silhouette for the cover. “I believe you’re familiar with this book?” Kikuoka slides across the SAO incident, a published account from survivors of the death game. “There may now be a dedication to survivors like yourself and the fallen like Yuuna, but there’s still so much more that’s missing from it.” Kikuoka adjusts his glasses. “For example, the truth: That although Akahiko Kayaba fried his own brain with the NerveGear at the close of the game, his consciousness still exists, and, that it’s now running freely across the net. I should know. He saved everyone on the Ocean Turtle during the Underworld incident.”

_Of course_ the Commander dodged death. If anyone could, it’d be him. I grit my jaw, but with Yuna watching, with her concerned furrowed brow, I let it go. I’m trying to move on from SAO; it’s taken enough.

“Forget it. I’m not interested in a digital ghost hunt.” I grab my mug off the table and gulp down the bitterness. I slam it down. “Go ask Kiriguya for help. I’m sure he’d be eager to play hero.”

“Unfortunately, he’s indisposed at the moment.” Kikuoka reflects out the window. His body language says I’m free to go. I start for the exit.

“What if finding Kayaba could help resolve your dissociation within Yuna?” Kikuoka calls out across the empty café.

I pause by the door. _He read me._ I clinch the exit doorway handle. Just walk away, do it! Leave! I twist around. “What do you mean?”

“She _is_ listening too, isn’t she?” Kikuoka keeps his eyes on the window. He hasn’t shifted.

“There’s no dissociation. _That_ Yuuna is gone.” I try to close the topic with a lie.

“Then why keep what remains of her?” Kikuoka calls my bluff. Yuna’s avatar watches me from the other side of the door, waiting out on the street. People phase and walk through her digital form, flickering in blue pixels.

“You want answers, don’t you? What’s real, what’s not? I’m sure you’d get the closure to move forward at least on her dilemma. Who better to ask than the man who now shares her same source-code?” Kikuoka’s voice rattles deep. Outside I see Yuna’s brilliant red eyes, watching me with wonder and then a warm smile. It’s both hers, and a distant memory’s.

“There’s more.” Kikuoka sighs.

“More?”

“Yes,” Kikuoka motions for me to come back to the booth. I indulge. Yuna suddenly appears at the other end of the booth. I slide in beside her and take her hand under the table. What’s coming next?

“We now also know that there’s a 3rd party, someone besides us, hunting for Kayaba as well.” Kikuoka leans on the table again, facing his full attention towards me. “If someone wanted to use an A.I. to track Kayaba’s digital signature to either capture or kill him, where do you think the easiest place to go would be?”

I freeze. This is why he’s here. The Commander would be diligent to cover his tracks. The only way to spot him and his activity across the SEED Nexus or the net would be to have intimate knowledge of his source code, SAO source code with enough complexity to process human conscious levels of thought–Yuna. Someone with the intent would dissect her.

“Is that a threat?” I grip the hand of Yuna’s avatar, tight. For the first time her avatar produces fear behind her red eyes, beading between me and Kikuoka.

“It’s the reality of your situation. Which is why, at least with us, you wouldn’t have to protect her alone. We’d even allow you to hold on to her data personally.” Kikuoka bows his head to us. “We’re not asking you to surrender her to us; we’re asking the _two of you_ to work with us.”

“Who _is_ we?”

Kikuoka lifts his head and waives a finger towards the counter. The barista from earlier comes to our booth.

“I’ll take that other order please, today’s special.” Kikuoka remarks.

I watch the barista bow to Kikuoka and return to behind the counter. She kneels below then lifts a suitcase over it.

He planned out this entire encounter.

The barista tows the suitcase to our booth, presents it, and lays it on the table. Kikuoka smirks as he unlatches the suitcase, and, inside, reveals a diamond-shaped processing chip, glowing bright red in circuit lines. An exo-suit, just like the one Dr. Shigemura built to enhance my physical abilities.

“Interested?” Kikuoka smiles.

\---

_I’m looking up to the steel bedframe of our bunks in the barracks. It’s a rare hour to lounge between cleaning, physical training, and catching shit from CI’s. Dad should be calling from his trip in Tokyo soon. Synching the time zone difference has been a bitch._

_A buzz on my bedspread. I pick up asap and hold the phone camera up to my face to chat. His freckled brown skin and warm bearded-smile appear on my phone screen. He twisted one of the curls of his hair before he realized I picked up, but stayed composed._

_“What’s up, pops?” I asked._

_“Ugh, you know how these suits be. All talk about nothing and everything at the same time. Do yourself a favor, son, never jump into politics.”_

_“You got the perks though, right?”_

_“You already know it.” Dad flipped the phone camera. Sitting on the hotel room sofa: two NerveGear helmets. “These are ours.”_

_“Shoot, if you get paid in exclusive VR gear for talking and traveling, I’ll take on your ambassador role for a few as long as you can clean my barracks.”_

_“Those days are weeeeell behind me, and It’s not all glam being away from home.” My dad sighs. “I’m sure your mother’s missing her boys right about now.”_

_“When you heading back?”_

_“I should be on the first flight out tomorrow. We’re squared away here, so until then--”_

_“Nah-uh! You better not be getting online before me! I’m the one who needs the escape here.”_

_“Relaaaax. I’m going to ship yours, and then I’m going to hop on. I need my escape too.”_

_“You’re just tryna get that early XP; Ima let mom know that you’re gaming while she’s holding it down at home.”_

_We laughed._

\---

Mylo

Tokyo: 14:45

“Don’t!” I lunge out of bed with a throbbing headache, dizzying. The room tumbles and spins after my stomach. Deep breaths. _Breathe_. I rub my temples to get a bearing of the room. Focus. Five things: Kanji characters over the sliding doorway, ocean-painted covers in my hands, incense holder on the corner dresser; breathe, the pulse is dropping--two more things: Glossy Oak bookshelf, the banzai beside the bed. Good. Good. Now there’s just the ringing from last night, but it’s peripheral. Placing a hand over my heart to feel it slow down—yeah, that helps. My last panic attack was dad’s funeral; last night triggered something new.

A knock on the sliding door. I see Ari-sensei’s silhouette behind it.

“Come in.”

Ari walks in wearing a black turtleneck, slacks, and a well-fitted blazer. His sandy hair is slicked back, and he adjusts his horn-rimmed professor glasses. Truly more distinguished than my nappy bed head. Bun. I grab a hair tie and bun my hair twists in the back—to look presentable.

“You slept-in pretty hard.” Ari leans against the doorway. “Even through your morning classes.”

“Last night was a lot physically.” I sit up-right, but even then, I feel burning stiffness from my right thigh all the way up to my shoulder. Ari crosses the room and kneels beside me.

“Here, let me see.” He checks my arm first. Ignited red undertones in my brown skin, purple discoloration, intense bruising. Ari scoffs at the sight. He grips my shoulder blade. “Rotate.”

I twist my upper arm in a circle. Some stiffness and pops, but no grinding. He lets go, and I cross my arm over my chest, then swing behind my back.

“Sheesh, good news, looks like it’s just heavy bruising.” Ari stands back up. “And don’t get me wrong, I like you, but you can pull your own pants down to check your leg later, right?”

“Really, sensei?”

Ari chuckles. “Can you stand up ok?”

I lean on my left side—too much weight on my right thigh might be too much. Straightening my right side has a delay, but once I’m standing, the pain’s bearable, just throbbing. I nod to Ari-sensei.

“Good. Are you planning on skipping my class today too by the way?”

“Actually, I was thinking about visiting mom today.”

Ari looks down and nods. “Yeah, I think she’d like that.”

\---

Mylo

Tokyo: 15:10

I inch downstairs. In the living room, Arimoto-sensei sits at a modern dinner table, square and hardwood with three seats around it. He jots down notes on a pad in one hand while reading _Julius Caesar_ in the other. He must be reviewing for today’s lesson plan or pleasure-reading—although, for him they’re the same.

“Good Morning, Mylo!” Julia’s cheery voice calls as she peruses around the kitchen surrounded by greenery and open sunlight across the living room from the windows. She ties her jet-black hair in a ponytail and ties a purple apron around a pregnant belly. She methodically chops veggies on the block. The knocking rebounds through the kitchen—I fight back remembering the door knock from last night.

“Can you check the pot for me?” Julia asks, brown eyes bearing over the chopping block. Onion scents perforate. Miso soup? I step into the kitchen behind Julia and lift the pot top. Savory spices waft through my soul, mellow, warm; my stomach roars. This’ll heal _everything_.

“Don’t let the water from the broth evaporate!” Julia looks over her shoulder.

“Sorry!” I wave a hand as I _slowly_ put the lid back down. “It looks great!”

“Good! I’ve already strung and boiled the noodles, so if you could set a few bowls on the kitchen counter and we should be ready.” Julia smiles. “I figured you boys would be hungry after last night. I heard you both jumped out a window.”

I reach for a top cupboard and pull out three bowls best for Ramen. “Arimoto-sensei just dropped; I jumped after dodging a couple shots.”

“It was still hard on the knees though, ya know? I’m only getting older” Ari groans without looking up from his book.

_You’re, like, 30 man._

“Kind of you to let him go first.” Julia sets the knife down. She reaches for a bowl and settles a bundle of noodles inside. She grabs the ladle and pours the soup on next; the drip, the explosion of spices in the air, oh man, the Japanese know how it’s done. She finishes by adding the onion and a garnish before handing me the bowl. “Please pass that to my husband first.”

“Yes ma’am.”

I saunter over to the table and lay the bowl in front of Ari-sensei, nose burrowed in his book.

“You’re welcome,” I whisper.

Ari-sensei raises a thumbs up to Julia. “Thanks honey!”

“No problem.” Julia comes around with the last two bowls. She nods at me to take a seat.

“Thank you.” I have a seat at the table. “Speaking of last night—Arimoto-sensei, something’s been bothering me.”

Ari-sensei finally lowers his book. “Hmm?”

“I mean, Sanji, even though Kikuoka said he had information, he seemed pretty low on the ladder, right? I’m sure whatever intel he had was pretty inconsequential to whatever their goal is.”

“You’re wondering why someone would risk exposure to silence him, is that it?” Julia says as she casually stirs her noodles in the broth and blows at the hot steam in her scoop.

“Yes ma’am.” I nod. “I mean, why bother going after Sanji alone?”

“Those shots were meant for us, not necessarily the kid.” Ari-sensei mulls over his ramen bowl. “Someone knew we’d be there, that we’re on Kayaba’s trail.”

But how? “A leak of intel?” I ask.

“Kikuoka-dono wouldn’t allow it.” Ari-sensei leans back in his chair and sighs.

“I think you put too much faith in that man,” Julia pouts. “When we all worked together at the ministry after the JSDF, he’d take all kinds of gambles and backroom deals to accomplish a goal. There’s no reason he wouldn’t now at your expense if it was for the greater good, in his mind anyway.”

“I know you’re right, but I need to be able to trust my comrades in a situation like this.” Ari-sensei stares directly at me. “If we start doubting each other now, everything falls apart, and with a new body count starting, that’s not an option. Besides, Kikuoka isn’t with the ministry anymore. He doesn’t have those resources; he needs us.”

Julia slurps up noodles. “He’s shtill nawt inbited tew the baby schower.”

Ari sighs in acceptance.

“What do we do now then?” I ask.

“Trust our partner.” Ari crosses his arms. “You brought up some good points last night. If I were Kikuoka, I’d be finding ways to expand our limited resources, not just to raise our chance of success, but to keep this little team safe.” At that, Ari reaches over and rubs Julia’s belly. “Ooo! Mylo! Come feel her! Quick!”

“Huh?”

“She’s kicking!” Ari glows.

“Honestly.” Julia sighs with a smile.

Watching them, that warmth, I wonder how long ago my family looked the same.

\---

Mylo

Tokyo: 15:50

A hummingbird darts between lavender flowers. It’s unpredictable: a shimmering olive blur of wings and then, fixated and feeding on another white bud with gentle precision. It’s the most precious memory from my mother and I’s garden, watching the bird dance. It’s a snapshot of my youth and the beauty of what her heart and hands could make. I see her veined brown hands rested on the glass table between us now, all under the shadows of an awning, in the open space of our backyard. Her brown eyes fix on her lap, freckles over her nose hiding, hiding the freckles she passed on to me. Spring warmth breezes between us and the wind chimes overhead. A soft chime. Curls from her fro twitch in the wind, and, when she looks up at me for the first time, there’s a shade in her eyes, a specter of herself.

“How are you hun?” She cups my hands in her frail ones. The warmth still feels real.

“I’m doing all right ma. Had a busy night.”

She exaggerates her frown because she’s fighting back a smile. She can never stop glowing, even out of the sun. “Well, you look tired. When’s the last time you got to meditate?”

“Been a minute.”

“C’mon.” She frees up a hand, asking for mine. “Take my hand.”

I do. I know her mantra.

“First, close your eyes. Now, listen to _all_ the sounds around you without focusing on any one sound.”

The wind, the swaying shrubs and trees sounding like an ocean, the chiming, my heartbeat.

“Good, now, can you _feel_ your arms, your fingers, your toes? Can you feel your butt up against the chair?”

We snicker like children, but I know what she means. I’m aware, aware of the weight my body carries in each individual part, the muscles, the pulse through each.

“Now, are you present?”

I open my eyes. Hers glow again; the veil’s lifted from them. Heat spreads under my cheeks. Tears come next. “Hey, mom.”

“I missed you.” She smiles. We hug.

“I’m sorry. My new job’s just been keeping me busy lately.” I wipe the tears away.

“I do wish I’d get to see you more, but it’s ok. I know you’re doing something important.” She nods to herself.

“I’m working hard so I can get you out of here ma.”

“I know, I know. I just don’t want my baby thinking he has to take on everything himself.” She pinches my cheek like I’m four, but I miss it, the warmth in her hands; I let her hold on. I even cup my own around hers.

“I’m trying not to.” My smile fades as fast as I felt it. What’s coming next—

“You speak with your dad?” She lets go and leans back in her chair. The glass table rattles with that. The shade captures her brown eyes again, fixing on the bush of lavender in the sun.

“I—” I choke, holding in my wringing chest and then more tears. Maybe she won’t remember seeing me like this, but— “I will, ma.”

Frozen, she watches the hummingbird, looped in this virtual reality. She turns back to me and cups my hands in hers. “How are you hun?”

\---

Mylo

Tokyo: 16:00

The sanitized white walls of the hospital room close in as halogen light bulbs buzz overhead. Back in Yokohama North General Hospital, out of Mom’s personal VR space. I gaze at the next bed over. She rests in a hospital gown with steady vitals on the monitors around her, and over her eyes and covering her head, the medicuboid headset, connected to a wide array of wires plugged into the massive computer behind and looming over her.

“How’d it go?”

I follow the voice. Dr. Kurahashi smiles as he adjusts his oval glasses and stuffs his hands into his white coat.

“Same as last week.” I sigh. “There are moments though.” Moments where her eyes look clear, like she’s truly behind them, not lost and forgetting from her past trauma.

Kurahashi grips his chin. “It’s hard to determine what the right stimulus might be to induce reconnecting old pathways and inspire neuron growth, but the fact that she is having moments of clarity is promising.”

I nod to that optimism. Full-Dive technology works by sending sensory signals to the brain, in turn, creating the VR worlds gamers love. So, with the right stimulus from a machine as powerful as the medicuboid, and the right drug cocktail, maybe she’ll finally wake up with her memories intact, maybe she’ll come back to reality.

A text-bubble notification on my Augma flickers in the upper right corner of my periphery. I reach out to drag it and open:

**Arimoto: New orders, meeting a new contact, 22:30, GGO.**

I close the message and drag out of the hospital bed.

“I’ll be going now, thank you for all your help Dr. Kurahashi.” I bow.

“Of course.” Kurahashi follows behind me.

Above the sliding exit door, I spot the bronze plaque, a dedication:

**We hereby dedicate this machine to Konno Yuuki:**

**Zekken and Medical Pioneer**

Dr. Kurahashi and I bow at the threshold, and then I turn. Mom’s arms and legs look thinner than when Kikuoka transferred her here per our agreement. And seeing her plugged in—it reminds me of Dad. He never made it out of SAO. Mom fell apart after, in a different way from me.

We walk out of the patient room.

I won’t let Kayaba collect more collateral.

I need to catch him.

Then, I can focus all of my energy here.


	3. Team, or Time Bomb?/The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team assembles, and Kikuoka lays out the next mission to catch onto Kayaba's trail.

Ari

GGO: 21:50

I’m holding a Type 54 Blackstar this time. The grip gives it away. Lets see—I’ve already got the recoil spring—Spacer—Barrel—what’s left on the table? Firing Pin! There it is—safety, slide lock, cover plate—GGO simulates the cold lubricated feels of the parts well. Magazine body, one bullet in, done.

I whip off my blindfold and aim the green retracting bullet circle at the chump sitting across from me. He’s still scrambling to assemble his pistol— _CRACK_ —Hmm, GGO simulates the gunpowder smell too.

Immediately, the slumped player sitting across drops 500 credits for the taking. That’s the bet—10th one today so far. I accept the loot through the player window appearing in front of me.

“Ooooo!”

Oh? A crowd of players formed since I last had the blindfold on. Greased avatars dressed like Rambo and G.I. Jo’s clamor around under the cyberpunk neon lights of the dingy bar. More credits up for grabs? I’ve got enough to convert to 1000 yen, still need more.

“Who’s next?!” I shout. Murmurs in the crowd; no one steps forward. Maybe I went too fast on that last one; I’m scaring these kids. A sea of heads make way, someone’s moving through. Good, I’ll take it easy on this next one. Out of the crowd: a lean woman with cross tattoos on both cheeks, sleek black bodysuit with dangling holsters and a devil’s grin. A little munchkin in all pink clings beside her—hopefully my daughter looks that cute.

“Oh?! What kind of challenge do we have here?” The devil grins and shoves the dead avatar out of the seat. She turns the chair, plops down across from me, and wraps her arms around the chair’s back.

I lean back from her aura. She’s not just casual, she’s confident. I might have to race for real—been awhile. “It’s simple, we reassemble the two pistols here on the table, one round each. First to put theirs back together and shoot out their opponent gets the other’s credits, 500 minimum.”

“Oh?” She licks her lips. “Then I’ll put up all 30,000 I’ve got right here.”

“Ohhhhhhhh!” The crowd riots in cheers. The little pink one beside her darts her head back and forth in jitters.

“How about it, old man?” She leans in on the table. “Are ya still gonna put up now that you’re not handling these chumps? Can you take a woman’s challenge?”

All week I’ve passively collected 100,000 credits total, unconverted to 1,000 yen yet. I could, but—

“Hey! Arimoto-sensei!”

Perfect timing! Sounds like Mylo. His avatar in a grey half coat with armored shoulder pads appears. He runs a finger past the hightop twists of his hair—exaggerating boredom—brown eyes on my match. He glares at my opponent; he’s no stranger to giving off intense stares when his real mind’s somewhere else. I’d say he’s shouldering more than just last night right now.

Mylo turns to me. “We’re going to be late.”

I nod. I lose track of time during gambling schemes like this—“Sorry about that. You know how it is. Too much excitement gets the blood pumping, and before you know it, you lose track of time.”

“You’re the one who yanked me here with the time and everything, sensei. Seriously.” Mylo’s rigid stature droops instantly. I’ve gotten him to relax, even just a little. Out of respect, I look across the table to my opponent—moping with lips fluttering. “Heading out of here old man?” She asks.

“Sorry, maybe next time Ms.—”

“Pitohui.” She grumbles and crosses her arms.

“Appropriate.” I smirk. It might be good that Mylo reeled me out.

I follow him out of the crowd. We walk out of the neon-lit bar and into the dreary washed city of SBC Glocken. The backdrop scales in height tower by tower, symmetrically, until both sides reach an apex at the center, and between them, a gaping hole where an immense strobe light shines across the skyline. Hundreds of smaller lights of the city are radiating underneath. It’s how I’d imagine Philip K. Dick would craft a VR world, much more dramatic flair than Orson Wells’ dystopias. Engines roar by a highway adjacent to us.

“Who’s the contact?” Mylo asks, always on mission as usual. It’s sad how much those thoughts consume someone so young.

“No clue. Kikuoka-dono didn’t say.”

We pass through steel corridors and under dim streets.

“You ever get the feeling Kikuoka’s got larger plans besides _just_ catching Kayaba?” Mylo postulates. “Why are we just now finding out about a 3rd party pursuing him?”

“Relax.” He needs to focus on the positives a little more, and has he opened up about what’s really bothering him? “Kikuoka’s still helping to keep your mom on that experimental treatment with the medicuboid, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“How is she?”

I watch Mylo swallows his words—take a minute to process, to think, instead of just being reactionary to what’s in front of him, the mission, instead of distractions.

“Dr. Kurahashi and I agreed that—” Mylo pauses again to think on his words. The strobe from the city tower washes right over our heads. Memorial Hall should be a few blocks further as we pass by grunge and military–dressed avatars. “There was a moment this time, she seemed clear.”

“That’s great news, kid.” I instinctively pat Mylo on the back, and he shudders at the contact. I forget sometimes, how long it’s been since he’s been vulnerable to touch and others.

“Thank you, Arimoto-sensei.” He says as he hides his face, brown eyes looking down. “A—anyways, where are we meeting the contact?”

“Kikuoka-dono just said to meet them at Memorial Hall at 22:30.”

“Them?”

\---

Eiji and YUUNA

GGO: 22:25

“I really prefer ALO to this place.” Yuna waddles her feet on top of a crate container under advertisements in neon. Her military helmet tilts with her head. She prefers the black military camo with red accents today. “It’s all so dingy.”

“We’ll be able to go back there soon.” I lie with a smile. Honestly, I’m not sure what’s coming next. That’s why—“Yuna?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you finish looking into who Kikuoka’s associates might be?” She said it’d take a while to crack into all of them through the Ministry of Welfare and RATH files. Plus, she’s running her personal algorithm to deduce most likely picks for an operation on Kayaba. That probably includes any recent communications she could dig up on the net from any possible accounts and traces from Kikuoka, _and_ that’s based on what she could deduce from his behavior patterns and purchases—I can’t imagine the power and intelligence to process results through such a general parameter. No wonder she’s of interest for this ghost hunt.

Yuna grins. “Just finished.” She reaches up and grabs the neon sign above her—it glitches on the rim her hand touches into discolored pixels until she directly pulls it down to face me. I forget how her hybrid A.I. allows her to interact with worlds from the SEED now-- with all of her practice between the worlds we’ve dived into. A name and face appear on the neon sign. The first one: Kinryuu Arimoto. Middle-aged man, sharp facial features, brown hair, black eyes behind glasses for his last photo ID before he left the Ministry of Welfare as—part of the SAO incident task force? Currently teaching at the Tokyo Institute of Technology--

“Wonder if he knew Dr. Shigemura or any of the others?” I murmur—wait, “Psychology and Shakespeare?!”

“I do love the classics!” Yuna glows.

That’s such a random pairing. “Is it just him?”

Yuna frowns. “There’s just one more I was able to find through tracing Mr. Kikuoka’s search history and file access to the SAO incident—but I can’t access a name or photo ID, sorry.”

That sounds more in line with Kikuoka’s style. The nature of all of this seems to be covert. It probably pays having a ghost to hunt a ghost. “Don’t worry about it Yuna. You already worked really hard.” I make sure to pat her on the helmet.

“So, new friends, maybe?” Yuna smirks.

“Not every new person I meet is going to be friendship material.” I sigh. I’m hesitant to even use the title ‘partners’; This all still feels like coercion on Kikuoka’s part. I need more information on these guys—I need to find the fastest way out of the situation, or at least to get above any others involved. Anything to keep Yuna safe.

“You’re awfully stingy for someone with none but me.” Yuna crosses her arms. Her eyes reflect her old self again.

“That’s cold.” I laugh.

Yuna resumes waddling her feet, dazed and humming to a song, jumping to a completely different wavelength after that burn. Her split between A.I. and real human memories divides her attention. Still, if there is a way to resolve Yuna’s personality—

“We have company!” She says.

I snap to where her finger points. Up ahead, two figures. The first shares the same facial features as Arimoto’s last photo. He bears plated chest armor over his torso and a green camo flak jacket. His brown military boots stomp in the puddles of street potholes as he approaches. Beside him, near the same height, a younger man, brown-skinned with hair twists on top of a high-fade. He wears a grey half coat, buttoned up and double breasted, but the buttons look like armor pieces to compliment the armored pads on his shoulders. He’s the unknown—A Recent Immigrant? African-American?

The man that must be Arimoto approaches the two of us first: “When shall we three meet again, in Thunder, Lightning, or in Rain?”

Passcode. “When the hurlyburly’s done, when the battle’s lost and won.”

Arimoto nods and smiles. His demeanor feels more—casual than I expected. He immediately bows. “Kinryuu Arimoto, but you can call me Ari.”

Strangely, I can tell in the way his body relaxes after he rises—he’s genuine. He elbows his partner to speak up next, even while he looks away, glancing at Yuna and I out of the corner of his eye. He’s waiting for me to go next I guess, trust issues?

“Eiji, this is Yuna.” I nod.

“Hello everybody!” Yuna cheers.

“A pleasure.” Ari smiles, then rings his arm around his partner’s neck. “We call this quiet one here Mylo. Don’t worry about his demeanor—US military forgot to teach em manners.”

US—Military?! He looks like he can’t be a year or two older than me.

“What the hell Arimoto-sensei?!” Mylo’s tough-guy façade totally deflates. “Why don’t you just give away all of my personal info?”

“It pays to start off a new team with a foundation of trust and transparency.” Ari grins at Mylo, squinting at him. They lock stare while Yuna and I watch—these two are not what I expected at all.

“I’m Yuna! Nice to meet you!”

I suddenly realize she’s not behind me; she’s between Ari and Mylo and eagerly taking Mylo’s hand to shake, elated.

“M—Mylo.” Mylo stammers from the surprise entrance.

Now that the tension’s down a bit, maybe I can even more information. Get on their good side. I look at Ari. “That passage earlier, Shakespeare? Macbeth?”

“Ah!” Ari places a hand to his chest. “A new student after my own heart.”

“You’re too easy to please.” Mylo sighs at Ari. He slowly lets go of Yuna’s hand, then looks directly into her red eyes, like he’s finally taking her in. “She a fluctlight A.I.?”

Of course Kikuoka updated them already.

“I told Kikuoka we needed one for this mission. I thought he said it wouldn’t be possible.” Mylo rubs his chin, still looking over Yuna. I don’t like the way he studies her.

“She’s more than that.” I instinctively walk over and stand between them, but I can feel Yuna’s hands gripping my shoulder to look over it. She’s curious about these two.

“And who are you?” Mylo flatly asks. His brown eyes glare into mine. This one’s a problem.

“I just said—”

“Right, Eiji. That’s your name, but I mean, I only asked Kikuoka about someone to trace our target. If that’s her, why are you here?” Mylo says.

Standoffish much? I could probably knock this guy on his ass here and now. Besides, its not like I want to be even be here. “Listen here—”

I feel Yuna’s firm hand relax and pat my shoulder. I hold her hand as she comes around me and faces Mylo, standing half a foot taller than her.

“Naut is the most courageous swordsman I’ve ever known. He’s worked hard now to prove he’d lay his life down for me or anyone if it’s for the right cause. Trust us, and he’ll do the same for you.” Yuna says as she stares Mylo down.

I don’t deserve that confidence, not after my mistakes.

“Kid.” I notice Ari lay a hand on Mylo’s shoulder. “This won’t be another Sanji.”

Mylo closes his eyes. The wrinkles between the bridge of his nose scowl, but then relax with a sigh. Whatever Ari means, it got to him--whatever he means. I don’t think I should prod into it. I can’t really tell what makes Mylo tick yet. I can’t afford more obstacles when it comes to keeping Yuna safe.

“You do know what you’re signing up for though, right, kid?” Ari gazes up at me now. “We lost an informant last week, probably the same age as you.”

By lost—“Sanji?”

Ari solemnly nods. I watch Mylo’s reaction too. His eyes stay downtrodden. So, that’s why he’s on edge—another kid died.

“I’m no stranger to life and death situations, or Kayaba.” I try to say with confidence. “To be honest, they always seem to follow him wherever he goes anyway.”

The mention of the commander ignites spirit in Mylo’s eyes and stature again, and with that, something wrathful too until it’s interrupted in a series of claps down the street.

“Very well said.”

Huh? We all turn to the source. A man dressed in black stealth military gear approaches on the street. He wears a face mask and a black helmet to disguise himself until he pulls them down. He adjusts his glasses over his avatar.

“Kikuoka-dono?” Ari asks.

“This is a surprise; you never risk exposure in-person or in VR these days.” Mylo remarks.

“All of you finally meeting is too exciting to pass up.” Kikuoka smiles.

\---

“Let’s get started.” Kikuoka leans against a glowing green holo-table in the center of a private lounge. We’re secluded in a cramped room with crescent leather sofas in a circle surrounding us. Mylo sticks close to Ari; I stick close to Yuna.

“I gathered you all here today, first, because I figured you’d want to get acquainted, and so Arimoto could finish running GGO scams to pay for diapers.” Kikuoka says.

What?

“Babies are expensive you know, Kikuoka-dono.” Ari rubs the back of his head.

“Does Jules know you’re still running gambling schemes?” Kikuoka grins.

Are they—joking? Isn’t this a little off topic?

Arimoto stammers. “Well—”

“There _is_ a reason you assembled us, right?” Mylo speaks my thoughts. Ari sighs relief at Mylo’s interruption, and Kikuoka adjusts his glasses.

“Ah-hem, yes, well--” Kikuoka makes a few clicks on the holo-table. A 3D directory hovers over the table of usernames and aliases. “After Mylo and Ari interrogated Sanji, I took it upon myself to trace the people he attempted to recruit that night.”

“Recruit?” The question slips out. I know they’re getting into last night, but I’m out of the loop.

“You didn’t bring him up to speed yet?” Mylo frowns at Kikuoka.

“Right, sorry about that.” Kikuoka nervously grins, but I know he’s fronting. He probably wants to keep me as ignorant to the details as possible. It’s easier to make people tools that way--like he does Kirito, or how Dr. Shigemura operated. If I can’t outmaneuver Kikuoka, I’ll never have agency. If I can’t even get that far, how can I protect myself and Yuna?

“Eiji-san?”

“Huh?” I realize the others are staring, even her. I hope I’m not wearing my thoughts. “Sorry, just blanked out trying to process the information. That’s usually Yuna’s department.”

Yuna cockily grins at the compliment.

“Of course.” Kikuoka smiles--even that looks loaded. He changes the hologram on the table. It’s the layout of the first page of an image board online. “We already know Kayaba’s been operating as a digital ghost across the net and The Seed since the end of SAO. After this, fringe groups appeared on the net. Some fantasized about SAO, others were actual survivors, but they all formed a following for its creator. Some even advocated bringing back the Death Game.”

That—makes sense. I have moments where that world bleeds into my real one, days where I remember I’m Nautilus, a member of The Knights of Blood Oath. SAO lasted 2 years, I’ve only just been back in this one longer than that—at least that’s how it feels—the dissonance between the two realities, the two lives I’ve experienced. It’s why when I think about what Yuna’s going through—

Yuna’s hand holds over mine. I watch her red eyes as the scan the 3D chat boards and messages. I know deep down her memories are a storm. The ones we share together in SAO are precious, but she also died there—so to think that others would celebrate that, let alone people who never took part in it--

“How awful.” She murmurs. That gets an eye raise from Mylo.

Kikuoka nods to her comment. “Naturally, the SAO task force kept tabs on them, but because they were mostly college kids and younger, we left it alone and just monitored their activity. They were practically harmless.”

“But something changed?” I catch on.

Kikuoka nods. “First, what happened at the Ocean Turtle a few months ago.” Kikuoka plays a video recording over the table:

Sparks of gunfire ricocheting off hallway corners and, behind one, a man in a suit. On the other side of the hallway, a man in military gear unleashing automatic fire, but then something appears in the hall: a man in armor? No, the motions of its body are too unnatural, its trudging—straight into the gunfire with arms raised to shield. It’s a robot flashing green eyes. At first it recoils from the shots, but presses through the hall, sparks from bullets bouncing off its chest. It’s advancing slowly. Then, Kikuoka himself appears on video, rushing to use the robot as a shield, and then firing from his pistol as the military assailant on the other end drops dead.

Yuna gasps at the playback while my head buzzes. When Kikuoka said that Kayaba’s consciousness survived, I didn’t think—

“That robot—is Kayaba himself, rescuing the passengers from the armed assault of the Ocean Turtle.” Kikuoka adjusts his glasses. “It’s not in the official incident report, but someone leaked this video to online spaces sympathetic to Kayaba. In it, they claimed that Kayaba had plans to usher the world to a new digital age. Naturally my first thought went to—”

“Another SAO.” I murmur and clutch my fists—It couldn’t happen again, could it?

“What matters is how we’re going to stop it if it’s true.” Mylo practically growls. Guy’s harboring serious anger at the thought. Can’t say I blame him, but I don’t recall meeting someone like him in SAO. So why does that look seem so personal?

“We don’t know if that’s his end goal.” Kikuoka clears his throat and the atmosphere. “But what we do know, is that Kayaba is too chaotic a player to be left to his own devices.”

“And threat or not, he needs to be taken in. Someone should answer for trapping tens of thousands of people in SAO.” Arimoto nods.

Kikuoka nods to Arimoto’s sentiment. Then he clears his throat.

“There’s more.” Kikuoka says. “After the operation last night, I did some digging. Sanji’s body wasn’t reported to police, nor were there any reports of a disturbance on campus, and Sanji’s school records say he’s recently withdrawn from the university.”

“What?” Mylo scowls.

“Additionally,” Kikuoka continues. “There’s others around his age range and situation with the same status, all suspiciously within two weeks of Kayaba’s appearance at the Ocean Turtle. Although, no missing person’s reports have been filed as of yet.”

“Are you saying there could be missing kids?” Ari asks. “More—bodies?”

“We have to consider the possibility.” Kikuoka sighs. “Whether there are or not, someone’s covering their tracks. I intend to follow up on this while the four of you carry out your mission.”

Kikuoka leans in. He directly stares at Yuna and I.

“Eiji, as you know, I decided to bring you in because I believe Yuna might be able to track Kayaba’s digital signature, especially if he’s residing in SEED worlds and traveling in the nexus between them to communicate with a following.” Kikuoka says. “I’d like to find a way to put that theory to the test after intercepting his followers.”

The hologram over the table changes to an overhead street view map, somewhere in Shibuya. There’s multiple shops along a strip, a bustling district.

“Tracking communications with this group is difficult now. They don’t message each other through image boards since the incident with Sanji, and they already primarily communicate and recruit in-game.” Kikuoka says. He leans on the table as the green overhead lights reflect on his glasses.

Of course. It’d be more difficult to intercept messages that way unless someone directly eavesdropped—so they have a process.

“Because we were successful at finding Sanji’s group in ALO, we’ve been able to track their movements through map data in their cell-phones.” Kikuoka paces around the table and draws an arrow with his pointer finger to one shop within the district, a café. “Every day they’ve been meeting here at this café. I’d advocate a similar tactic like what we did with Sanji, but after what happened, I’m guessing they’re no longer leaving themselves isolated when they full-dive, and opting to dive in public instead for safety.”

“But Sanji was ultimately pretty low on the food chain, Kikuoka.” Mylo keeps his eyes down. It looks like he’s recalling that trauma.

Kikuoka nods to that. “I know It’s a small lead, but that’s the most I can figure out until we can get Yuna and someone else in there to take a closer look.”

“Could also just be coincidence, it’s a popular café. I’m sure teenage kids visit it all the time.” Ari shrugs.

“Think so?” Kikuoka smiles like he was waiting for the challenge. Almost on cue, Yuna eagerly raises her hand. Her eyes glisten like rubies.

“Kikuoka-san?” She asks.

“Yes! Yuna!” Kikuoka leans in and answers.

“I took a moment to look up all the usernames from the picture of the image board you showed us. It’s well hidden and there hasn’t been posts since yesterday, but a lot of the IP addresses from most recent posts come from the general area that the café is located in.” Yuna explains. “Also, I extended the cell tracking search to their friends list, and friends of friends. Small groups in large frequencies aren’t just visiting the café, they’re diving from it.”

Arimoto whistles—thrown for a loop. Me too. She’s amazing when she works her magic, but I don’t like the smile Kikuoka’s wearing now—like he just confirmed a hypothesis.

Kikuoka bows. “Then, here’s the mission: We’re going to stake out this spot with a van parked in an alley further away. We’re going to take this opportunity to figure out what they’re up to.”

Wait, why not just spy on them in VR if we know their user names? “In person?”

“Synchronized diving.” Mylo murmurs.

“Huh?” Yuna and I ask. Mylo pouts and folds his arms—it’s not our fault Kikuoka kept us in the dark.

“What he means,” Ari explains. “Is that we break off into teams. Two in VR, and two to watch the situation in the van from the café. It’s to double our chances of successfully getting intel, on the off chance either team loses their target.”

“If the VR team fails to intercept, then we’ll use the café team to tail a member of the fan club after they leave. Also, there’s another reason.” Kikuoka says as he adjusts his glasses. “We need to verify if the 3rd party will show up again. It’s an opportunity to learn more about who we’re dealing with on that front if they do.”

“So who’s going in?” Mylo eyes Kikuoka.

Honestly, Yuna and I probably have the most VR experience here because of SAO. If we need to infiltrate this group in VR—

“Team 1 will be Mylo and Yuna. Team 2 will be Arimoto and Eiji.” Kikuoka says as he brings up our names on the holo-table. It marks Mylo and Yuna as the VR team. I’m on--the café?

“What is this?” I blurt.

“Is there a problem?” Kikuoka frowns.

“Yes! Our agreement is that I would stick with Yuna to keep her safe.” What if Kayaba really is there? Sure, I have her data saved to my augma, but I can’t imagine Kayaba wouldn’t have some way of neutralizing Yuna if he saw her as a threat. “Also, shouldn’t _we_ be on the VR team? We have the most experience since we’re—since I’m an SAO survivor.”

“Don’t take it the wrong way, kid, but you’re still new.” Ari sighs. “We don’t know how you operate yet. Plus, Mylo’s got experience dealing with these guys in VR, and we need Yuna to be there in case anyone tries to communicate with Kayaba and run a trace.”

“How about the three of us?” Yuna tries to compromise.

Ari shakes his head. “I need someone else with me. We need one lookout ready to for any followers that make a break for it or if the 3rd party shows. And we’ll need someone with their foot near the gas in case either of those happens.”

I don’t like this. How quickly Kikuoka switched on his promise—just like Shigemura when he double-crossed me. Forget it. I’ll find a way to protect Yuna on my ow—

“You think you can handle the VR task?” Mylo sighs.

“Yes, I do.”

Mylo firmly stands and hovers over me. I won’t be intimidated; he doesn’t know what I’ve been through. I stand up to meet him, eye to eye. We’re the same height.

“Kid—” Arimoto shifts to Mylo to diffuse, but Kikuoka places a hand on Arimoto’s shoulder and shakes his head.

“Any time wasted arguing is less time devoted to finding Kayaba.” Mylo says and then smirks, but—there’s something wicked in how the corners quirk. Is he intimidating me out of ego? No, his look is too sober. There’s cold-blooded calm in those eyes; they reflect my avatar under the neon green lights. I see it. To him, right now, I’m just an obstacle, Inconsequential otherwise.

Mylo lays a hand on his hip as his smirk deflates into his usual dry stare. It pisses me off. I’m not sure if anyone else can catch a glimpse with us so up-close, but I see it. This guy clearly carries demons; He just thinks he’s the only one.

“Speak with your sword. That’s how it goes in SAO, right? Face me, 1v1. You win, and I’ll gladly let you take my place as a trust of strength.” Mylo says.

I see Yuna frowning at me. I feel her hand taking mine, trying to bring my emotions back down and take a seat, to accept it. Whether I truly still know her or not, no one else sticks by me like her, so I won’t lose her. Not again.

“You’re on.”


	4. Collateral/Dissonanace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mylo and Eiji hash it out by the sword. Ego's collide before the mission.

Ari

ALO: 48 Hours before operation start

Typical Kikuoka—leaving me to look after the kids. He pulls the same stunts like back in the task force days. Jules would call me a doormat.

ALO’s simulated breeze brushes across my skin and the individual pixels of bladed grass under my boots. Below this grassy hill is a slab of ruins and a decrepit arena among it, square and open air, and, standing on opposing ends, the knuckleheads equipping their gear for a duel. The littlest one, Yuna, shifts in my periphery—nervously watching. I never imagined A.I. could be so lifelike. I could never distinguish her reactions from a real-world patient—or from her past self.

“Nervous?” I’m even trying to reassure her. She simply nods while her red eyes reflect tenderness. Her thoughts are full of Eiji right now I’m sure. I instinctually pat her head. I’ll have to support my daughter someday—maybe this is practice.

“What’s on your mind?” I ask out of routine.

“Naut.” She glooms. “I hate seeing him like this.”

“Little lady--” I look back down at the two of them. They spread their stances. Mylo rears his right arm to his chin as he grips that double-bladed sword. He shifts his weight to his right foot in the back. All that weight. “--I know exactly how you feel.”

\---

Eiji

ALO: 48 Hours before operation start

_Double-bladed_. _That’s new._ We pace around each other in the boxed arena. Any openings, information, anything? Mylo’s gear: Black Sleeveless tunic with an attached hood pulled back, steel shoulder guard and a bandaged hand on his left side, britches tucked in steel-toe boots, and a waist cloth colored electric indigo--It matches his hood. No secret or legendary gear attached, but then—that sword—I know ALO updated weapon drops and variety, but this is the first time I’m seeing anything like it. Rare drop? The entire length of the weapon is at least two meters; it’s practically a polearm. I’ll have to either get him within reach quickly, or stall time until I can get an opening. His reach and angle of defense will be wide, but I should be able to outmaneuver him. And then there’s the possibility of getting him at an angle that would inflict harm on himself—no, he’s too confident. SAO survivor or not, he must have experience to back up using a weapon like that. I’ll stick to the plan of looking for an opening. I still have my gymnastic agility. I can work around just needing to get his health bar in the yellow with no flight, and then, Yuna and I—

“Finished thinking it through?” Mylo asks as we pace around each other.

_Tch_. Or maybe he really is just cocky.

“With all the time you’ve spent staring me up and down, I’m waiting for the pickup line.” Mylo perks with a grin.

His mood’s changed. “You’re awfully more talkative now.”

“I’m in my element.” He smiles. Grass blades follow the breeze. Dust from the ancient arena follows. Then stillness.

Now. He surges forward off the front step of his left. I meet him.

Our blades clash—get a feel for the weight of his—he presses the upper blade further into mine, holding it there. He has that annoying-ass grin. I’m going to fix that.

I ease on my sword hand—let him drive his upper blade closer to me, but I side-step, get a kick into his right cheek—he doesn’t even flinch—I leap overhead with my free hand on his shoulder before flipping to his backside— _NOW!_

His lower blade swings to guard his back, and our swords connect again. He rotates with his lower blade guiding mine away—that upper one is coming for my back. I front flip to evade the lunge and build distance. We face each other again.

“Surely you didn’t think I’d be as easy as a few flips, right?” That annoying-ass smile.

Same plan: look for an opening. Stay patient. I can outmaneuver him! My feet launch forward as my sword moves from my side to a flurry of slashes. Mylo moves his rotation to his double-blades, windmilling and pausing to meet each of the strikes. Is he planning to make an offensive move yet? He must be trying to read me first; I’ll take advantage then!

Instead of keeping to his front—I move to his side—an opening in his footwork, maybe? Move in. I hold my blade across my torso as I close the distance but keep my body low, and one of his swings misses overhead. An opening in his left leg. I cross my blade there, striking, but then something knocks me back. A bass drop. My shoes screech across the arena floor—and I’m still falling further back. I can’t stop, even with the friction.

 _What the hell?_ What is this?

A shadow. I look up and see Mylo’s grin bearing as he raises his upper blade for a downward slash, seizing the opening. I lift my sword high to block, but then he revolves the lower blade.

_A feint!_

Footwork. Use the momentum. I kick off the arena while falling back and spin midair, rotating just past the lower blade, swinging just over my nose and slicing grey hair strands. The top blade still crashes down into my sword—Shit! his defense to offense switch is twice the speed of a regular one-handed short sword—those double blades. My back pounds into the arena.

_Get up!_

Another slash comes down, but I breakdance on my free arm to dodge and kick away. Build distance again. Take a moment to breathe but keep eyes on him.

Mylo relaxes his stance. He just stands there, watching me, still with the cocky grin, and his sword—wait, when did it start glowing—a sword skill?

“Oh, this?” Mylo eyes his illuminating double-blade. “Sonic Buster releases a skill called reverb: repulse. Using the sound and kinetic energy from the strikes you make; I can release a sonic wave that knocks back my opponents. It won’t deal much damage, but it makes for one hell of an opening—or good crowd control.”

He’s right—it didn’t deal damage. So, I just need to be cautious with how I strike; they can rebound and knock off my momentum. And he’s confident enough to reveal it to me—No. If anything, telling me is part of the mental fight in this arena. The comments throughout, that grin, the jeering: he’s a great fighter, following my train of thought—reminds me of dueling Kirito—but I’m different now; I’m changing, even now in this fight. Yuna and I are sticking together. We won’t be separated again, no matter what.

I smile. “That’s broken as hell.”

“Ain’t it?” Mylo’s grin fades. He’s getting serious now.

He suddenly surges forward with more speed than before. That blade windmills around him—only milliseconds in openings. He’s going on the offensive. I’ll meet that. Lean in—and _strike!_ Our blades cross and chime. He rotates the blade to build an opening; I rotate my body, to close them as narrow misses from his Sonic Buster swing closer. The motions are instinct, the flurries are instinct—red polygon cuts drift from body parts—mine. I can’t get openings staying guarded. I draw my sword arm below my right hip, freeing up my torso. Mylo cocks an eyebrow as his sword slashes down on me again, taking the opening, but I dip toward his forward leg.

“After all that, you still think my lower body’s my weakness?”

His extended steel-toe kicks towards me, but it’s too late. I dive in, letting go of my sword, and locking both arms around his extended leg—a backflip to wrap my calves around his neck and bear the weight of my lower body against his torso to flip him to the arena floor head first—a bass knocks us both back—his Sonic Buster. He’ll still crash with me!

We roll across the arena floor. Our abandoned swords clang against the ground in the tumble. We finally stop.

“Had enough?” I pant. I spit out the dust caught in my cloak and scarf as we slowly climb to our feet, both of our health bars dipped but green. Mylo creaks his neck—guess not. He bears fisticuffs, but then eyes my violet blade off to his side. I look to mine. The bandaged hilt of his Sonic Buster is within arm’s reach.

We draw each other’s weapons. Mylo rears back my sword, a form reminiscent of the lightning flash, but my sword’s no rapier, it’s meant for dedicated slashes. Is it too awkward for him? No, I feel it in his sword—the weight balance is different—holding double-blades, but the polar ends ultimately serve the same purpose as my own.

_What’s his game?_

I watch his eyes. For the first time, I see how they methodically stare back. Did they look that way even when he grinned? Empty—no, just trying hard to be—the suppression of rage through a callous gaze—I’m not the one he’s fighting right now.

Mylo surges forward. I cross the Sonic Buster to meet. This strike will end it, and now I have the range. From experience, I know, this sword will reach first. He won’t accept my strength until I win, so I will. I’m strong enough now—I’ll keep Yuna safe.

_I can do this!_

A roaring yell burns deep inside. The adrenaline. I drive everything into the sword swing with Mylo in range, and if he blocks, I’ll swing back with the other end, just like he did me. He’s out of gimmicks! “And out of his league!”

But. My sword?

It rotates through the air, in an arc toward me—he—threw it? I swat it aside on instinct but feel a firm grip on my wrist and sword arm.

“Do you think I don’t know how to handle my own sword?” Mylo glares in my face. Suddenly he sidesteps and japs his elbow into my gut, collapsing for air—don’t—my hand cringes, and his Sonic Buster flips into the air and away from my periphery. Swordless, he throws jabs—my gut again as I double over, then under my chin—I spin back—he’s still coming.

He leaps—have to block—his fist bursts through my arms raised. Don’t lose your footing, recompose—

A roundhouse kick knocks me to the ground. No. Get up. He pushes me back down, another drawn fist.

“Stop wasting our time.” He sits over me—again, a dry stare.

“You got something against me?” I sputter.

“You made it personal. The moment Kikuoka brought up the A.I., you lost your nerve.” He says calmly.

“What the hell do you know?!” I yell back. Like he knows what we’ve been through—

“I know all about you, Nochizawa Eiji.”

What?

“The moment you said your name—I knew.” Mylo rears. “I made sure to read up on as may case files as I could when Kikuoka brought me on—including Ordinal Scale.” He gets off me and turns his back.

“I’m not that person anymore.” Is that what this was to him? A test?

“Maybe.” Mylo rears his head back, staring upward, watching the cloudless blue sky. His chest takes a deep breath, the manic aura around him dissipating. “Arimoto-sensei counseled a lot of parents while working for the SAO task force. He made sure to visit as many as he could that lost their children—that included Dr. Shigemura.”

Then he really does know about us?

“No one’s taking Yuna away, so you should show more respect for everyone’s efforts. Maybe even trust in hers.” Mylo reaches on the ground, his Sonic Buster lays at his side. Wet splotches fall on the dry-stone arena floor. Tears?

“Besides,” Mylo says. “You’re not the only one who’s name didn’t make it in the book.”

Mylo picks up the Sonic Buster and lets it dissipate in a blue aura of pixels. He walks away with his win as I notice my health bar in the yellow. “You should figure out why you’re still in this fight.” He says.

“Who are you?” I finally ask. I know I never saw him in SAO, and there’s no mention of a Mylo who uses double blades either or with fist fighting skills. I clamber to my feet.

Mylo half-turns with tears, blended with trembling eyes. He gazes with distant hatred—despair—exhaustion—what he’s seen all along in our fight. His gaze relaxes, back into that dry stare, suppressing grief lurking.

“Just more collateral.” His boots patter across the arena.

\---

Eiji

Tokyo: Apartment: 44 Hours before operation start

Those crickets chirping in the dark corners of the apartment—I’ve logged out. Moonlight rays shine through the windows of our small studio. I close my eyes. Was fighting for Yuna’s sake not enough? Can I even properly protect her, or am I still weak? Just like back then--

“Eiji?”

Huh? I stare at the ceiling in the dark. That sounded like Yuna—I press the side of the augma near my temple. Ruby eyes pixelate over mine as she leans on the couch overhead in a simulated nightgown.

“Are you ok?” She frowns. “That was—hard to watch.”

“That guy—you’re sure you couldn’t find any records of him?” I ask.

“Y—yea,” Yuna stammers and looks away. Maybe that bothered her; I didn’t answer if I was ok.

“It’s all right, you don’t need to worry.” I might prefer to keep my thoughts locked-in tonight though. I can’t explain it yet—what’s bothering me. I hate the idea of handing off Yuna to them, assurances or not, but—

\---

_“You should show more respect for everyone’s efforts. Maybe even trust in hers.”_

\---

Is he saying I don’t trust Yuna? That’s ridiculous—how can I let him get in my head like that? Yuna and I have always been together. Whenever we weren’t, that’s when--

“Are you worried about the mission?” She probes again.

“Yea, I am.” And so much more. I look back into those Ruby eyes.

Yuna’s white braid sways as she tilts her head. “Even if we’re not always side-by-side, we’ve always kept each other safe, right?”

Maybe in ALO, but before—right now—things could get dangerous again. What happens when we get separated? What if this is just like SAO, when she left for the Field Dungeon with the guys in Fuurinkazan—and never came back?

“Nau—Eiji,” Yuna starts, snapping me back.

She paused between her split thoughts. That’s new. “What is it, Yuna?”

“I know after the diner, we both talked and agreed to work with Kikuoka—and that it’s not ideal, but—why were you fighting today?” She murmurs. This time her eyes look away—maybe searching.

“I want to keep you safe.” I twist one of her white braids to ease her, but she turns away. Is something wrong? “Yuna?”

Her white hair glows in moonlight. Her red eyes illuminate in the tears forming under them as she stands up.

“Yuna? What’s wrong?” I stammer.

She turns her back as I lift from the couch. Should I reach out and console her?

“Am I a burden?” Yuna watches the moon again.

“No, Yuna, it’s not that—” I step closer. “I’m just scared is all.”

Yuna turns to me. “Scared of what?”

 _…That maybe I’m confused, and--_ “I’m afraid of losing you again.”

“Was that—why you fought Mylo?” She asks. “Why you needed to?”

“I’m sorry about that." I want to hold her and make her feel safe.

“Ever since you and Kirito repaired my A.I., I see how you look at me—or sometimes don’t—” She cradles herself. “So, do I make things complicated for you?”

I don’t know what to say—has she always had these thoughts, and I just never noticed? Her programming—no, she had such a blissful attitude today, or was I just not paying attention—was there more under the surface? She stands on the tips of her toes and pecks a kiss on my cheek, but she can’t smile, just shying her eyes away. I haven’t given her an answer. I can’t give one.

“Try to get some sleep, all right?” She says as her body fades in dancing blue pixels, particles now in beams of moonlight, back into the augma where she locally resides. I drop into the couch. I couldn’t say no.

\---

Mylo

Tokyo: Apartment: 42 Hours before operation start

“Let me guess, still having doubts?” Arimoto sensei cuts through. We’re at the walkway of his place and my temporary bed. I’m more tired than I expected.

“How do you read me so well?” I ask openly. Sure, Kikouka can too, but Ari’s senses are different—Kikouka sniffs out weakness, Ari finds the roots of your thoughts.

“You wear your emotions on your face; it’s even stronger when you’re trying not to.” Ari laughs. “Or maybe it’s my paternal instincts kicking in.” He knocks on the peach-colored door. Jules’ll be pissed getting woken up at this hour because the old man forgot his keys when we were diving in GGO at the University.

A thump of footsteps approaches the door. There’s a pause, a sigh, and then unlocking clicks. Jules swings the door open and appears with her hair tied back in a bun, and long flowing pajamas over her pregnant belly.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Arimoto sensei enthusiastically bows again and again. “We didn’t expect to be out so late.” He pushes my head down too.

_I’m not the one who forgot his keys!_

“Sorry, Julia-sensei.” I give in to the bow out of respect.

Jules sighs and rubs her belly. “Just come in already, but next time, don’t forget your keys, _please_.”

“Yes, of course, sorry. Sorry.” Arimoto sensei says with his nose to the ground still. This time, I bump his elbow, tell em to relax. We both raise our heads as the living room lights beacon. We all go inside.

\---

“So, what’s got you troubled?” Arimoto pops a beer can in the living room. He keeps his voice low—Jules is sleeping.

“Troubled?” Oh, right, emotions on my face. Ari smirks before he drinks.

I sigh. Maybe I went too rough on Eiji. “Whenever I think of Kayaba in the heat of a fight—”

Ari stops drinking and attentively leans on the dining room table. All ears.

“I lose myself.” I admit it. I think about how the hurt I put on others will be what I put on him.

“You know, today you asked Eiji why he was still fighting,” Ari sighs. “What about you, kid?”

“What do you mean?” I pull up a seat across from him. The living room bounces our voices, and then, the quiet lingers in a void. My thoughts gravitate around it. Maybe my feelings are what’s filling the room, and right now—

Maybe I just need sleep.

Ari takes a deep breath and leans back in his seat. The moon, beaming, shines behind him through the living room’s glass sliding door. “Caesar’s spirit, ranging for revenge, with ate by his side come hot from hell, shall in these confines with a monarch’s voice cry Havoc! and let slip the dogs of war.”

Shakespeare quote. “Julius Caesar, easy.”

“Well, I did say the name.” Ari smiles until he eyes his drink. His eyes fall with his tone. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Sure.”

“Right now—It’s looking like you’re on the war path of revenge.”

Just me?

“But we’re all going after Kayaba?” I ask.

“It might look like we’re all on the same path, because we’re working together, but deep down we’re all in this for different reasons.” He takes another sip, then lowers his can. “That matters, kid.”

“Even if the end result is the same?”

“It won’t be.” Ari scoffs. The can abruptly clanks on the wooden table, a new sound disturbing the void. “When all of this is over, that grief and anger you’re clinging to, it’ll still be there, just waiting, at least until you figure out how to process it.”

“I don’t remember hiring you for a therapy session.”

Why am I so defensive?

“It’s on the house today.” Ari smiles in the face of my rudeness. “Besides, It’s not just for you. Eiji, Yuna, and I are sticking our necks out too.”

“I won’t be a detriment to the mission.” I try to reassure.

“Like with Sanji?”

The silence fills back in. It looms over the living room, again, with a mass so great that everything gravitates there. Every thought—any word.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Ari says. “It wasn’t your fault, but I know you think about it—in the way you lashed out at Eiji today.”

“You’re reaching.” I stumble.

“You know, you and Eiji actually have a lot in common. You’d probably get along well if you tried.”

I scoot out from the table and bow. This is too much for tonight. “Thank you for your time and patience, sensei. I’ll think over what you said.”

“Can I expect to see you in class tomorrow?” Ari scoots his seat back and stands with me. “You’ve been in Tokyo for quite a while now, and Kikuoka gave you freedom to enroll in classes. Forged student status or not, I’d hate to see you not finish your education because of Kayaba.”

“Gee, I don’t know—” I look away from him and scratch my cheek. I’ve been rude enough, I don’t want him to think I’m blowing his class off, but--

Ari pouts before crinkling his can. “I was planning to start my lecture series on Freud and Macbeth.”

“Don’t I need to catch up on my readings then?” I distract.

“Mmmmmm.” Ari keeps pouting at me.

“Is that pout practice for your daughter?” I deflect. Ari crosses his arms.

I yawn. “Geeze, this therapy session really emotionally wiped me. I think I’m gonna head to bed.”

“Seriously?” Ari sighs.

“I’m going to take tomorrow to meditate on the mission, but I do think I’ll feel up to everything after.” I mean that. I’ve focused so much on Kayaba, and maybe that’s because it feels like we’re so far behind him, behind whatever’s truly going on.

“Kid,” Ari says. “Kayaba can’t give you the peace you want.”

Silence lingers in the living room after. Another palpable vacuum with faint echoes of the street outside. Silence harsh enough to hear my heartbeat pulsing.

“We’ll see.” I fill the silence.


	5. Link--START!/Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission to pursue Kayaba's trail begins.

Ari

Tokyo: 6 hours before Operation start

This world can be hell—with kids so young having to battle demons. I turn over in bed to Jules. Her belly lifts and eases in her sleep. Her cheek sinks into the pillow. So peaceful before sunrise. I wonder what dreams she’s having—maybe discovering our daughter’s name.

Our daughter.

What kind of world will she be born into? One with less darkness? Eiji, Mylo, Yuna, they’ve all faced it.

Funny. I never shared with Mylo why _I_ was fighting, but maybe the idea of removing injustice from this world for my daughter sounds too naïve. I just hate to imagine men like Kayaba could hurt her by the time she’s born. All those parents—the visits to the hospitals—to the funeral homes—

Jules rolls on her back under the sheets. I lean over and kiss her cheek—no reason, just feels like home. She doesn’t wake up, still breathing, softly.

\---

Mylo

Tokyo: 4 hours before operation start

The war path huh? The sun breaches through the window. Birds sing.

I look down in my grip—my old NerveGear, what dad bought and shipped—before anyone knew. Time’s left its mark in the wear and tear splotches of its rough texture.

My hands grip tighter. If we could go back to before everything changed—so the present can just stay a nightmare—Well, I’m still waiting to wake up.

Mom.

I wish we could both wake up from this. I feel tears running—dropping—on the surface of the NerveGear I could never put on, not when I saw how alone she was, struggling, and hoping for the day he might come out. I should have stayed by her after everything that came after.

\---

_“I’m sure your mother’s missing her boys right about now.”_

_\---_

I won’t stop, not until the nightmare’s over.

\---

Eiji

Tokyo: 3 hours before Operation start

Arimoto should be here soon. What time is it? 15:00. I wish I could _stop_ time for this. How else do I prepare for—

Yuna.

She still hasn’t come out from the Augma, not after last night. Did I make a mistake? Not telling her how afraid the past makes me for right now? And how much I’m still holding on. I can still see her dyed milk-tea-brown hair and amber eyes—that silly white feathered hat as she sings in front of the teleport gate plazas.

It’s imposed in the reflection of those red eyes—the white braids—a smile that’s familiar _and_ distant, but that’s only what I can see on the surface. Behind those eyes--

The memories.

How do I fight against the memories of losing her while fighting to keep the present Yuna safe? Will the past repeat itself?

An unmarked van pulls over and parks down the street. That looks like Arimoto behind the wheel.

“Yuna—are you still with me?”

Nothing for a moment. The van’s engine rumbles in silence. Maybe she’s mentally preparing to—A cloud of blue pixels appears before me. Yuna’s red eyes solemnly reflect my own. She wears the black and red one-piece dress, faithful to her default A.I. appearance.

“Always.” She takes my hand and leads.

\---

Eiji

Tokyo: Operation start

Cramped—there’s barely enough space in here for three men and an A.I.

In the van, Mylo climbs into the back and lounges—so relaxed for a mission. He grips my augma in his lap, which means he’s holding onto Yuna too.

“Eiji.” Mylo’s voice.

“What?” I accidentally gruff.

“Please take care of Arimoto-sensei while I’m under.” Mylo doesn’t look up. I guess being even a little sincere can’t overtake all his pride. I look up to the front seat. Arimoto hovers over the steering wheel and stares out the windshield. Across the street from us is the café. Customers cycle in and out: teen groups out of school, couples, and families. Somewhere inside, there’s a group sympathetic to Kayaba, to the man that got Yuna and countless others killed. I turn back to Mylo. Through his own augma, I see Yuna sitting beside him and lightly smiling at me, trying to be reassuring.

“You’ve seen me in action now. I’ll watch her back. You have my word on that.” Mylo leans back again.

“You’re more talkative again.” It’s a little late to act buddy-buddy.

“I’m trying to stay grounded this time.” Mylo sighs. “And maybe show a little faith—try not to make the same mistakes as last time.”

His demeanor changed. Does he mean Sanji?

“We’re on!” Arimoto calls from the front. He’s spotted someone diving inside. I look at Yuna—my heart races—I’m not ready to see her leave, not again. What if—

“I’ll come back to you.” Yuna smiles back at me. I believe her—I want to. This can’t go like the last time. “Trust me.” She finishes before pixilating and disappearing.

“If anything happens to Yuna—”

“I won’t let it come to that.” Mylo slides the augma over his ear and temple. He reclines further. “Link, start!”

They’re both under now. _Please, come back safe_.

I rush to the front of the van and sit beside Arimoto.

“Look alive, kid,” He says. “This might be a long stake-out.”

Through the glass, I see a hazy outline of a group sitting in a booth—one of them leaning on the shoulder of another, seemingly asleep. Yuna was right. They’re full-diving from there.

Arimoto breaks away from the windshield and brings a box to my periphery. “Kikuoka said you’d know what to do with this.”

The latches on the side click as I lift it open. The exo-suit. Red circuit lines trace inside the box.

“Go ahead and try it on, you’ll match colors with your little girlfriend.” Arimoto smiles.

“She’s—Yea, ok, I’ll put it on.”

\---

Yuna

ALO: Operation Start

>>Initializing Augma Full-Dive: Loading avatar…navigation pixie? [Yes].

>>Acknowledged. Current spawn: New Aincrad, Floor 1: Town of Beginnings. Loading…connect with party member, Username: Mylo? [Yes].

>>Acknowledged. Loading…

Pixels. Code. Darkness. Floating again, light and adrift in the digital sea. My body isn’t my own, just another piece of the code. It’s cold.

Cardinal numbers illuminate the dark, forming the ground, silhouettes of mountains, trees…Loading…

A flash. The vibrant town of beginnings appears in large stone-paved roads and in the clock tower of the central circular plaza. Colorful player avatars cross through. It’s all so—familiar.

“Yuna?”

Mylo. I look down below. He watches me with his indigo hood pulled over. He’s dressed in the same gear he used to fight Eiji. “You’re not hiding your regular gear?”

He shakes his head. “No. Last time I was in just a ragged cloak and hood. Someone might recognize me if I go with the incognito fit. Besides, I’d prefer to be comfortable for combat. Can you start searching for any of Sanji’s friends in-game?”

>>Contacting GM services…WARNING: Unrecognized external system entry. Please ente—[*********] Loading…passcode confirmed.

>>Initializing player search…Loading…Complete! “I’ve got it! One’s located on this floor, and heading towards Tolbana.”

“The amphitheater—a place for a crowd.” Mylo murmurs and starts on the brick path. I’ll hover over his shoulder for now. We blend into the crowd of other avatars.

“How are you in a fight by the way?” Mylo asks.

“Are you planning to make me prove it for you too?”

The game simulates a still air—those words slipped.

Mylo pauses. “Listen,” He sighs. His deflated shoulders and evasive gazes signal remorse. “If you’re upset about what happened with Eiji, I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you—but you should apologize to Naut, not me.”

“You do realize that sometimes you call him Naut, and sometimes you call him Eiji, right?” Mylo says. We cross by town houses and avatars. Bright faces. Smiles. So different from that day in a past life--

“Yuna?” Mylo asks. A crowd of avatars flow around us.

“Huh? Oh sorry, I was just thinking—”

Mylo stops in the crowd. A few hooded avatars nearly bump Mylo’s shoulders but keep moving. Strange, they didn’t bother to turn around. Usually body language from the ego dictates they’d at least turn to see the face of the person who almost caused an accident—a way to connect their frustration—no, maybe they’re just focused.

“Listen,” Mylo says. “Are you sure you’re all right for this?”

>>Comfort: nodding head.

“Does this place remind you of—”

“Yes.” It’s all so—jumbled. Players trapped—kneeling—begging to be free—hysterics. These are my memories. Why are they so distant?

“I’m sorry.” Mylo’s voice draws me back as he tilts his eyes down. A sincere apology. Naut’s right. He does have some kind of history to SAO.

>>Subject change: “If something does happen, my hybrid A.I. allows me to take on qualities similar to a player avatar. We remember some of my skills from SAO—even Ordinal Scale. I change between that and my navigation pixie often when I’m with Naut.”

“The two of you have been fighting together a long time, huh?” Mylo asks.

>>Analyzing: Empathy attempt? “That’s right! That’s why I’m sure you and Eiji would get along if you tried!”

“Easy there,” Mylo chuckles. “You’re turning beat red. I believe your passion about it.”

“Hey! You smiled!”

Mylo tries flattening his cheeks. “Is Tolbana close?”

>>Recalculating...

“Yes! 5 minutes with flight!” I point to the labyrinth, the tunnel spiring through the sky. Another memory—something much darker—weighted and inside us. Tolbana is settled near it.

“All right then.” Mylo leaps off the stone path, soaring until he reaches the red tile rooftop of a stone townhouse. He grips the eaves. Below: a rainbow sea of avatars processing between street corridors as far as the town reaches under the horizon. Everything feels so familiar. I remember singing.

Mylo activates black wings behind his sleeveless tunic and launches toward the labyrinth. I may be small, but I can keep up with his flight speed. Eiji might actually be faster. It’s a straight flight from here.

“Yuna?” Mylo asks.

“Hmm?”

“If I did want to apologize to Eiji after this is over, how would I?” Mylo keeps his eyes to the sky. “If this isn’t our last operation, we might have to work together for a while. Can’t always be at each other’s throats—or—it’ll get in the way of things.”

>>Analyzing…Regret?

“Well, you and Eiji are a lot alike actually. You try harder to brood though, _and_ he’s a lot more calmed down than bef—” < _Error >_…Inconsistent Data.

“What is it?” Mylo asks.

“Actually—I’m not sure I know the answer to that anymore.” I shy away.

“What do you mean? I thought you and Eiji were—ya know?” Mylo prods.

“Were what?”

“Uuuuuuuuh, ya know, labels aren’t always what’s most important these days.”

“Hmph.” Rude. “Are you sure you have time to think about this?”

“It’ll be about 5 minutes before we get to Tolbana.” Mylo sighs as he watches our flight path. He grimaces. “Arimoto-sensei said something to me the other night—I can’t shake it out of my head. So, I guess I wanted to know more about you guys, besides just the files.”

How do I feel about these memories? What do they mean to Naut? “You probably know about how Naut and Kirito repaired my A.I. by bonding it with the memories of—myself, right?”

Mylo nods.

“Well, now, sometimes it feels like I’m two different people, or maybe it’s two souls in one body, two souls in one memory? One moment I’m clear, and the next--”

“You’re a shadow of yourself?” Mylo finishes. The wind howls louder in the jet stream.

“Yes.” Does he get it?

Jagged castle walls appear over the horizon. White windmill towers peak behind. Tolbana up ahead.

“I’m sorry. My mother’s going through something similar right now.” Mylo murmurs.

>>Empathy command: “I’m sorry to hear that. That must be hard.”

Maybe we should ask—“This might be rude but—do you look at her as less than who she used to be?” How long has that insecurity lingered in me?

Mylo frowns. Did the question strike him? Is that how Eiji feels too?

“I’m ashamed to admit that in the beginning I used to.” Mylo murmurs. “It was scary—seeing someone you once knew and loved change into someone almost unrecognizable, and all because of memory, something in the mind.”

“Is that how he sees me, then?”

“No.” Mylo interrupts.

“Huh?”

“Some feelings, if they’re strong enough, just transcend memory. That’s all there is to it.” Mylo says with a straight gaze. “It took me awhile after her condition to realize that.”

“You really think so?”

“You don’t have anything to prove, and if you care so much for him, give him time. Maybe even take some for yourself if he still needs to sort things out.” Mylo keeps his eyes on Tolbana’s walls. “I know I still do somedays.”

I wipe away the tears. “Weird.”

“What?” Mylo side glances.

“I just never figured you’d be good at relationship advice, Mylo.” Does he have experience? “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No, too busy.” He blushes immediately. He even turns away. So cute! Suits him better than the rough exterior he puts on.

>>Teasing function: “I don’t know—I think it might have something a little more to do with—you.”

“You’re ruthless.” Mylo’s flight speed bursts forward as the wind gusts. _How fun!_ Now who’s evading the topic? More player avatars collect in the sky, flying for the same destination. If I could process it, I wonder how many might be heading for the same place as us? How many SAO survivors? How many stuck in the past, like the rest of us?

“We’ll be landing near the amphitheater soon.” Mylo slows down our flight speed.

We fly over the green patched plaza as avatars converse around the fountain in the center. It’s so peaceful. Will there really be fighting here? Further ahead—that looks unfamiliar—a maroon tarmac covering where the amphitheater should be—it’s set up like a tent. >>Analyzing…like a _tabernacle_?

“That’s weird. The amphitheater should be open-air.” Mylo says. “Did the game admins make any announcements about updating floor appearances? Any celebratory themes?”

>>Analyzing…[0 results returned]. “No, none that I can find—”

>>Analyzing…[Error]. Comparing the code around town: the tent over the amphitheater looks red, frenzied, and shifting—It looks _corrupted._

Mylo frowns and descends to Tolbana’s fountain in the plaza center. “We’re going in.”

\---

Mylo

ALO: Operation Start

We’re on to something.

Up ahead, avatars wait in a long line, leading into the shadows under the blood-red tent. A separate crowd stands off to the side. Some players might just think it’s an easter egg if Yuna’s right and this isn’t a planned change by the game admins.

But still.

I thought the Kayaba cult liked to stay under-wraps? “How could it be possible that a structural change took place within the game, without administrative or GM approval?”

“I don’t know, but something looks wrong with the code starting in the amphitheater.” Yuna says over my shoulder.

The code? “What do you mean?” I ask.

“I don’t know how else to explain it besides calling it code that’s been forcefully altered from within the game.”

When Arimoto and I first approached Yuna and Eiji in GGO—the way she touched one of the signs and changed it—“Like how you glitch in-game objects?”

“You know about that?” Yuna gasps. Her personality switches to her childlike A.I. as her hands cover her mouth and surprise.

“I saw you do it before in GGO.” I step in line behind other avatars and the uproar of voices chatting. I wonder if any of Sanji’s friends are here. Would they recognize me in my regular gear? None of them really got a good look at my face.

“The trace on the member of Sanji’s guild ends around here. The crowd makes it hard to pinpoint, but they could already be inside.” Yuna eases that thought. My cover can stay safe as we go in.

“Thanks, Yuna.” I sigh—wearing emotions so clear an A.I. can catch them.

I look ahead of the line. At the tent’s entrance, a few meters away, two guards stand at attention, heavily armored in maroon and bearing war axes. What exactly are they checking? What’s everyone else saying:

“Who knows? They’ve only let some people go in.”

“So is it some kind of exclusive event or a quest?”

“I’ve heard rumors that there’s some sort of key-phrase—”

_Key phrase_. Not good. I watch the armored guards again. They look like regular player avatars—could I take them? No, that’d cause a lot of noise out here, then the followers might bail. We need to get inside. “Yuna?”

“Yes!”

“You’re a pixie, so I need you to stay low and see if there’s any other ways insi—”

“Trying to sneak in?” A voice cuts through the crowd clamor. It almost sounds like laughing. Someone eavesdropping?

I twist around—a girl creeps from behind in a draping black half skirt and body suit. She pulls back the black hood from her top robe, cut above her waist. Her shoulder-length, half-clipped black hair shines so brightly under the sun that it sheens in violet hues. Her blue eyes smile. No weapons equipped.

“Eavesdropping?” I say candidly.

“Geeze, geeze, sorry. Everyone in this line’s so uptight.” The girl shrugs and steps back. “Did someone shove a stick up your butt too?”

“What?” Who even—whatever, “I’m busy.”

“But don’t you want to get inside?” She goads.

“Doesn’t everyone?” I ask. Why approach me first? Checking her again, she looks lightly equipped, and I don’t recognize her avatar, so why does her demeanor feel familiar? Is it her body-language? An air of cockiness—persistence?

“Do you know how?” She prods and wraps an arm around mine, acting awfully familiar.

“What if I did?” Let go.

“How could you?” She clings on. Any more struggle would look bad in the line and attract attention. Maybe I can use her—

Something pricks under my gut.

I look down. A knuckle-guarded purple knife digs in. The quality looks almost corporeal. A conjured weapon?

I look up at the girl, blue eyes glaring back as she pierces the blade closer. If it’s made of magic, it’s indistinguishable from the real thing.

“This how you usually introduce yourself?” Find a way to buy time. Think. If I get killed here, can I still sneak in?

“Umbra.” She scowls.

“Mylo,” I say plainly, trying not to trigger a stabbing. Conjured blades—so most of her skills are magic based, and that name--she must prefer using dark magic. A mage. This is the second time one’s had me on the ropes. “How can I help you, Umbra?”

“You can start by answering a question.”

“What is it?”

Umbra leans her blade in closer.

“Where’s Sanji?”

_The hellfire mage._ Switched accounts?

“You’re not the only one here I don’t recognize, but you’re the first I’ve stopped.” Umbra grits her teeth. “And you just reacted when I said his name.”

“Wouldn’t you react with a blade in your gut?” I deflect. What was her calculus here? A total bet on random luck?

“The average player probably wouldn’t care all that much over a respawn.” Umbra smiles. “Maybe I should just go ahead and move on to the next person in line after—”

Her blade drains health now, fast. I could have Yuna buff me, but starting a fight in line—what if whoever’s inside that tent spooks? “Start a fight out here, and you’ll never find him.”

“So you _do_ know something.” Umbra seethes while the knife drains health.

“Pull the knife back, or I’ll start a scene, and your chances of figuring out what happened will end right here.” I bluff.

“Why should I believe a word you say? _Especially_ if you have something to do with him disappearing.” Umbra asks. “That’s my friend, you hear? If you’ve done _anything_ to hurt him, I’ll fu--”

Throw her off.

“What are your views on Akahiko Kayaba?” I ask.

“What the hell?”

“I need an answer.”

“Are you dense? Who cares about a mass-murderer?”

What?

That can’t be right. “Then why are you here?” Does she not know?

“Idiot, I just told you—”

“Did you _know_ Sanji felt differently?” I interrupt. Keep her guessing on her toes. Maybe we have this wrong. Maybe I can get information.

“What are you talking about?” Umbra asks. I feel it. The conjured knife recedes, just a bit. I check the upper right corner of my peripheral. The health bar stays still and green. Good.

“Sanji threw in with the wrong crowd, got caught up in something bad.” I say. “Four nights ago, he was offering to take you and your guild somewhere. Where was it?” I ask.

“How could you possibly know that?” Umbra asks.

I can’t tell her I attacked their group. She won’t trust me. I have to keep pushing. “Where did he say he was taking you in ALO?”

Umbra’s knife shakes, just for a moment. “To someone who had information on a quest for legendary gear.”

“I need you to listen very carefully to what I’m about to say.” This is risky. Telling the truth here could set her off, and if she’s lying about being involved with Kayaba—I’ll start a fight, cut losses, and let Arimoto-sensei and Eiji handle the rest from outside, and if she tries to stab me, well—I’ll start a fight. The result’s the same. “Can you say with 100-percent certainty that Sanji doesn’t have a reason to discard his true reality and substitute it for this virtual one?”

At that, Umbra sheathes the knife by dissipating it into purple dust, umbral motes drifting away. “Seriously? You expect me to believe Sanji threw in with Kayaba fanatics, is that it?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” I counter.

“Look, I’m the last person to be a big fan of the real world. It sucks, especially for Sanji, but he wouldn’t—”

“You and your friends are diving inside of a café right now, aren’t you? Trying to figure out what’s really going on, any clues to where he might be.”

“Wha—what the hell?” Umbra takes up a fighting stance, but I leap forward and grab her by the waist, holding her close to make it look like public affection, not fighting. Our faces lean close together.

“Come inside the tent with me.” I say.

“That’s by far the creepiest thing a guy has ever asked me to do. Hell no.”

“This is why you’re single, Mylo.” Yuna breaks in. Honestly, the moment was getting so heated, I forgot she was here.

“This isn’t a date.” I sigh. “I want her to see the truth for herself, so I want to be transparent—like how Arimoto-sensei would.”

“Keep trying!” Yuna encourages me at the wrong time.

“You deserve to know the truth, about what happened to Sanji. This tent is run by Kayaba fanatics as you call them. Help me get inside, and we can both figure out the truth, together.” I say.

“Who the hell are you?” Umbra asks.

“I’m part of a covert team assigned to track down and apprehend Akahiko Kayaba. We thought your friends were a part of it. That’s why I know where you are.” I admit.

“Kayaba’s dead. And you expect me to believe that you work for the government? You can’t be any older than 25.” Umbra pushes me away.

“No, I don’t. I work for my employer.”

“That’s not what I meant, stupid—gah.” Umbra huffs then sighs. “We get inside, and you’ll tell me what happened? Help me find Sanji?”

“We get inside, and I’ll get the truth for both of us about what’s really going on.”

“That didn’t directly answer my question.”

“Yuna?” I ask.

“On deck!” Yuna’s pixie form takes flight over my shoulder again. Her long white dress flaps in dance with her wings, still carrying child-like air.

“Same deal as before.” I report to Yuna.

“Wait!” Umbra grips my shoulder. “I might have a plan.”

“What is it?” I ask as I pull my shoulder back.

Umbra bloats her cheeks, probably settling her pride. I’ve spent enough time here. I need to get inside—to whatever Kayaba has planned.

“Fine!” Umbra sighs. “Ok, the guards, when we get to the front, just leave it up to me.”

Hell no. “What exactly are you going to do?”

“You want me to trust you? Trust me.” Umbra and I move closer to the entrance.

I don’t know how Arimoto-sensei shows good will to strangers. This is too much.

“Yuna, right?” Umbra asks her. Yuna nods, her A.I. side cheerfully smiling. “The same as the AR super star, right?”

Yuna nods again. “Mhm. I do love a good performance!”

“How about a concert then?” Umbra smirks.

“Get serious.” I spill the thoughts on my tongue.

“I don’t mean a ticket for later, weirdo. I mean right now.” Umbra pouts.

“That might make too much noise. They’ll know something’s up.” I object. First randomly targeting me in line, now this. How often does she bet everything on a roll of the die?

“You got a better idea?” Umbra asks. “High risk, high reward, secret spy.”

My heart pounds.

I look up ahead. We’re closer in line to the darkness past the crimson threshold. At first, I thought the clamor out here was drowning out anything inside, but the closer we get, the more it reminds me of the void sitting in Arimoto’s living room last night. Something feels--wrong. “Yuna, do it.”

“All right!” Yuna shouts as her pixie form flies high above us in a trail of fairy dust. The player avatars ignore it, but then her body expands with a pop—she’s our size now. A rain of sparks wash over her as she morphs into her black and red dress and stockings—a public form everyone should know her by. One of the avatars in line looks directly up.

“Hey, is that—”

“That kind of looks like Yuna!”

“No way!”

“What kind of event is this?”

A mic on a translucent red wire appears on her belt. With a cheeky smile and a wink, she snaps her fingers: “Start the music!”

The atmosphere changes as guitar riffs wash through the air. Symbol and percussion beats drum as Yuna descends just above the crowd and gracefully sings.

Break Beat Bark, right? Her Ordinal Scale performance—

“C’mon.” Umbra grips my shoulder. She weaves through the line as the player avatars turn their heads towards Yuna.

“We still have the guards.” What now?

“Improvising.” Umbra smirks, and I don’t like it. Golden enchantment glyphs encircle her as we step through the line. “Come here.” Umbra grabs my arm. “Don’t get any ideas.” The glyphs spread over my periphery. It’s a shared spell?

Suddenly a puff of light smoke wraps around us and dissipates. What did she? I lift my hands up—these gauntlets—maroon? Armor too. An illusion spell to match the guards, and with the stampede and focus on Yuna, no one caught the spell being cast.

“Follow my lead.” Umbra whispers as we move up. The tent guards now stand right in front of us. Their avatars tower 6 feet, easily. Their helmets hide their eyes and humanity. The deathly stillness in their stance—are they really players? If Umbra’s planning to grift her way through, I’m not sure how—

“Sorry we’re late. Did anyone tell _you guys_ about Yuna showing up?” Umbra engages them like she’s just finding out the information herself.

The guards don’t budge as Yuna sings and players cheer in the back. One of the guards twitches, probably side glancing his partner. What silent communication are they having? The guards shift their helmets, snatching looks at Umbra then me.

“Hellooo, guys? It’s all right, we can drop character for a bit, everyone’s watching the Yuna concert anyway.” Umbra keeps pushing her luck. That’s it—If they turn us down, I’m sure with Umbra’s magic and my sword skills we can—

One of the guards hunches their shoulders over like they’re exhausted.

“Right.” One of them sighs with a higher-than-expected pitch. “No one ever tells us what’s going on.”

“We drew the short straw doing outside guard duty.” The other one murmurs deeply.

“But at least now we get to listen to Yuna.” The other responds.

“Yea, but we can’t really join the crowd.” The guard complains. “And we’re going to miss the whole reveal inside.”

Wait, is this actually working?

“I’m sorry guys.” Umbra slaps her hands on her waist. She pauses for a bit—thinking of what to say next? She snaps her fingers. “Oh! I know. How about we take over your outside duty next time?”

“Seriously?” A guard bears down over us with his deep voice. “You’d really do that?”

“S—sure,” Umbra stammers with her hands up, no objections.

“But we’re so low on the ladder; we’re small fry.” A guard asks. “We don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“So what? We’re all here for the same reasons, right?” Umbra shrugs.

“You guys are the best.” The guard with the shriller voice huddles and pumps his fists.

“And don’t worry about the event,” Umbra adds. “We’ll keep an eye out inside and see if we can find a way to relieve you guys, so you don’t miss it.”

“You don’t have to take it that far.” The guards object. “Don’t worry about us, just enjoy.” They lift the tent flap for us to enter.

Holy shit. That worked.

“Thanks boys.” Umbra pats their crimson armored shoulders. She must be grinning wide under the helmet as we step inside.

Light casts over the amphitheater as simulated sun rays split through the tent cover. It’s dim and washed in crimson. Along the amphitheater’s rows of seats, player avatars murmur--most of them probably anticipating Kayaba.

Disgusting.

Chills run between my shoulders and down my back. All of this—this sight—it’s all wrong.

“Mylo.” Umbra whispers.

Shake it off. I look around again. There’s not much room to sit anymore. Most of the players are just standing in nosebleeds. “Yuna?” I whisper. She should still be able to hear me; she’s connected to my avatar through the Augma, right?

Static. “We’re here! Well, actually, Yuna’s still on stage, but I can still hear you.”

How far does her split go? “Are you ok?”

“Great actually! I’m having so much fun!”

Of course she is. “We’re inside the tent now. Can I call you back if I get a visual?”

“Yep!” Yuna’s voice statics in my ear. “Just call me back and I’ll port beside you!”

“So, what exactly are we doing here?” Umbra taps her clanging crimson boots.

“We’re here to get a visual and gather information.” I say.

“You said you’d tell me what you knew about Sanji after we got inside.” Umbra says.

Is the timing to tell her too dangerous? She deserves to know the truth; she really does, but if she—

“Please.” Umbra’s spell begins dissipating. I grab her arm and guide her behind crowd members standing at the top row of the theater to stay hidden. We crouch as our regular gear and appearances return. Tears well under Umbra’s eyes despite her firm gaze on me. I pull back my hood—she deserves to meet me eye to eye when she hears this. How he died. My hand in it.

“Sanji—”

“WELCOME, BELIEVERS IN THE FUTURE.”

We hop up from behind the onlookers and watch the stage flared in spotlights. Out of the shadows a figure steps into the light: A crimson cassock, a faceless white mask with glowing red sigils snaking across its surface, a blood red hilt at their waist. They stand alone on stage and fill the room in a vacuum. Audience murmurs die.

My breath trembles under my pulse. They’re the only one coming out. Someone important?

A black gloved hand appears under the draping sleeves of the cassock. The figure reaches for their faceless mask.

“I apologize for the anonymity, and the inconvenient barriers to make it here today. But, as many of you know, there are forces at work, fighting against us.” Their voice booms, deep, masculine, and completely unfamiliar—impossible to ID without them removing their mask. They step further out onto the stage and reach their arms out towards the audience, to the sympathizers. Whoever it is has a flair for the dramatics.

“What do I mean by this?” They retract their hands, tightly gripping the air. “I mean the fight against our natural evolution into the next stage of human consciousness—being untethered to what the outside world considers reality--traversing entire worlds. And transcending the limits of human biology to do so.”

Murmurs return in the crowd.

I always knew the Kayaba cult was disillusioned—but this? What the hell is he going on about? It all sounds like selling dreams to the desperate.

“I’m talking about following in the footsteps of a great pioneer: Akahiko Kayaba.” The figure paces across the stage, but suddenly stops—like he’s just considered a revelation he’s about to share with the entire world. The murmurs die again. I’m back to the feeling in Arimoto’s living room. Gravity shifting. “If you’re sitting here today, you’ve seen it. You’ve seen the video the media and the government doesn’t want you to see: That he lives, and that he is now unbounded digital consciousness. Well, my faithful, from our pioneer, we have received a great gift: the secret to a life of digital consciousness.” The figure says. They lift their head high, and the next words boom throughout the amphitheater. “And—it has been replicated. With enough devotion to Kayaba’s ideals, it can also be shared with all of you!”

“Impossible.” Umbra whispers.

She’s right. Kayaba’s attempt was a 1 in 1 thousand chance. Replicating it would take mass deaths on an unprecedented scale—people would notice that body-count—

\---

_“After the operation last night, I did some digging. Sanji’s body wasn’t reported to police, nor were there any reports of a disturbance on campus, and Sanji’s school records say he’s recently withdrawn from the university.”_

_“Additionally,” Kikuoka continues. “There’s others around his age range and situation with the same status, all suspiciously within two weeks of Kayaba’s appearance at the Ocean Turtle. Although, no missing person’s reports have been filed as of yet.”_

\---

Chatter fills the amphitheater—private conversations. Skeptics, even in this crowd?

“I understand many of you may be skeptical.” The figure reads the audience. “So, may I introduce the first into our ranks beside myself--”

The figure steps aside, making way. Footsteps clatter across the stage and echo throughout the amphitheater. A lanky frame of a body steps into the light wearing an olive-green cloak, and a white mask matching that of the announcer.

The crimson figure shifts to the olive one.

“You may reveal yourself to the world once more, faithful one.” The crimson figure reverently declares.

The olive figure reaches a hand over their faceless mask, and, as they peel it back, spotlight illuminating their features, Sanji’s black eyes shine.

That’s—not possible.

“May I reintroduce one of our faithful,” The crimson figure announces. “Seijirou Sanji!”

Uproarious cheers explode across the shadows of the amphitheater.

“As many of you may have been aware, four nights ago, Sanji faced down attackers of our faith, but he has been reborn!” The crimson figure cheers while reaching out to the crowd. “He has cast aside his physical body and found true freedom, but don’t take my word for it. Hear it from him.”

Sanji steps closer to the dark edge of the stage, to the audience. The closer he gets, the more I can confirm it: his facial features match; he’s not runt size anymore though, and that lanky frame looks more like a well-toned build. He’s idealized.

Umbra.

I turn to her as her eyes obsess over the stage. She’s processing it too. Sanji clears his throat on stage. My eyes dart back there. Sanji’s walk, his confidence, it’s completely different from that frightened college-kid huddled in his dorm.

“Four nights ago, I was left for dead,” Sanji starts. “But this community saved me. When I had no hope, when I was left bleeding out after assailants attacked me for my faith, I was rescued.” Sanji paces the stage. “It’s true. I no longer have a physical body. But I’m here to tell you that the body is only a shell—and now, thanks to the innovations of Akahiko Kayaba, we can’t be _forced_ into one. We can travel to as many worlds as we can create. We can appear however we please, do whatever we please, without true suffering—something the ‘real’ world can’t offer.” Sanji smiles. The crowd hasn’t uttered a sound. The world is holding its breath.

“He’s told us himself: In two days, something new will be unveiled upon the world. It will shake the very foundation of what it means to be human,” The crimson figure says as he steps back to the forefront. “And, when that revolutionary day comes, I offer you this counsel: join us; be free. We will offer freedom to those devout to Kayaba’s example and escape the shackles of reality!”

The audience erupts again.

“Who are you?” Umbra murmurs to herself. I turn to Umbra. She’s tearing up, her face in shock.

“That is Sanji, right?” I say. After all of this, I’d understand the confusion—seeing different sides to a person, their darker natures and their pain coming to the surface. I saw a glimpse of this side to Sanji on the night we found him—the way he talked about Kayaba and the future, but this—

“No.” Umbra responds. Her voice doesn’t waiver as she grits her teeth. She scowls at Sanji’s performance. Purple aura whisps behind her like she’s discharging MP with pure willpower, no spellcasting. Her eyes bead on the stage, between the crimson figure and Sanji bowing to his audience. Umbra’s next words, with certainty, hiss with rage: “That’s not him.”

“And those who try to shackle us, to tie us down to only one world: You will realize the futility of your efforts, very soon.” Sanji smiles. “But first, to test the devotion of our followers here--” Sanji looks upon the crowd. “I believe we have pretenders among us, here, right now.”

_Oh no._

Just as I’m about to move, I catch motion among the shadows. It’s hard to distinguish, but they look like players in black cloaks—three—no, five of them, moving closer to the stage.

“Faithful, remove those here that would hinder our progress.” The crimson figure waves their hand.

Players around the amphitheater scan around, confused—until a blue flame, flickering and waiting for respawn, sparks new light under the dim tent. A PK.

A scream among the player avatars echoes in the darkness. I check there. The black cloaks cut through players towards the stage as rainbow flames ignite behind them. They move like a well-trained kill-squad, packed in circular formation, covering each other’s blind spots.

_Who are they?_

A mob of avatars in the audience rush in to subdue them. Sounds of mayhem in clashing blades and battle cries reverberate through the tent. Not good. This is going to turn into a full-on melee. “Umb—”

I turn my head as Umbra leaps past me. She jumps across heads in the crowd, straight down for the stage—for Sanji. _Damnit!_

“Yuna!” I relay.

Her pixie immediately sparks and appears over my shoulder with a glowing smile. She salutes.

“With me, follow Umbra!” I rush into the crowd as Yuna flies beside me. Everyone’s focused on the commotion making its way towards them. I check our rear. One of the black cloaked players perishes in purple flame. The squad tightens their formation, still pushing through the player mob drawing arms to fight. Up ahead, I see Umbra land in a clearing among the players just below the stage. The crimson figure and Sanji turn their backs to the audience. They’re just going to walk away. Some devotion.

“SANJI!” Umbra shouts.

Sanji’s avatar freezes, only peering over his shoulder for a moment.

“Look at me, liar!” Umbra shouts as golden glyphs dance around her. Her corporeal daggers appear around her knuckles. A purple aura hisses in smoke behind her.

“You have more important things to worry about.” Sanji replies.

“Why you—”

_Draw!_

I summon the Sonic Buster to my hand and dash to Umbra’s back as a player’s blade swings for her. I block and push back the assailant as Umbra positions herself to defend from the mob coming between her and Sanji now. We’re surrounded. The sound of clashing blades and yells echoes on the other side of the amphitheater as the kill squad gets closer. We could be looking at a three-way fight soon.

“Thanks for the assist.” Umbra glances over her shoulder as we stand back-to-back. It feels good to have help in here. Yuna too.

“Wait—” Umbra murmurs. I feel her back further away. I glance back at her, eyeing me and my blade, her hands trembling. Of course. My sword gives it away now.

“That sword—you—” Umbra’s speech cuts off. Suddenly, a blue field of pixels washes over her as her avatar dematerializes. A grey notification appears over where she stood: DISCONNECTED.

_What?_

The mob draws in. Sanji and the Crimson figure walk towards the back of the stage, into shadows. We can’t lose them here.

“Yuna!” I shout. “You can switch between pixie and player, right?”

“Yes!” She responds.

“Tail those two! Don’t let them get away!” I shout. The crowd can’t catch Yuna in her smaller pixie form. She can slip through. Until then, I’ll have to hold out on my own.

“Will you be ok?” Yuna lowly asks.

“Don’t worry, I excel at crowd control.” I grin, nerves burning. “I’ll be right behind you in a sec.”

Yuna nods. Pixie wings veer over the heads of the crowd and dash for the darkness. Eiji’s gonna kill me.

I turn back to the surrounding mob of players. I wonder if I’ve got enough rage for so many sympathizers of Kayaba. I rotate the Sonic Buster to intimidate the crowd inching closer—they back away, just before reclaiming their ground.

Then there’s the squad in black—I’m starting to think they’re the 3rd party infiltrating in VR.

A sword’s jab reaches for my cheek as I swat it away with my top blade. <Reverb: Repulse>! The group flies back, stumbling on top of each other, but they slowly climb back to their feet, and a new section of the surrounding mob fills their gap.

This might take a while.


	6. To Catch a Specter

Eiji

Tokyo: 30 Minutes earlier

No kidding this might take a while. We’ve been sitting here, watching, for nearly an hour—the café keeps a revolving door as customers come and go, and then there’s the ones who stay—groups to watch closely. Conversations across booths. Tables waited. A high-school-aged girl laying on the shoulder of a friend. Arimoto bets that’s the one full-diving. I buy it, but I thought there’d be more based off Yuna’s data—I guess there could be more.

Yuna. Stay safe.

“You doing all right?” Arimoto calmly asks. He finally lowers his binoculars, sighs, and leans back in the driver’s seat. For a moment he glances towards the back of the van, where Mylo’s reclined and diving from. I guess Arimoto’s worried too. His eyes soften. Maybe these guys really are different—I can’t remember the last time I got a look like that from someone besides Yuna.

“Are you?” I borrow Arimoto’s binoculars, peeking through the front window of the café. Besides the revolving door of customers, still no change, but if Yuna’s doing her best on the other side, I should too. Suddenly I hear Arimoto laugh—random.

“Sorry, sorry.” Arimoto sighs. He hunches forward in the seat, wrapping his arms around the steering wheel. “I’m just usually the one checking in on others; not used to getting the same question back.”

“Mylo doesn’t ask?” I murmur with some spite still at the edge of my tongue.

“He does, in his own way.” Arimoto says. “It’s hard to take care of others when you’re struggling to take care of yourself.”

There’s been no change in this area. I’m trying to stay focused, but the curiosity is getting to me. Those sword skills, those fighting skills, but no record of being an SAO survivor—despite a clear emotional connection to Kayaba—

“What’s his deal?” I ask.

“Pretty similar to yours actually,” Arimoto says. “I won’t share too much, just because it should be his story to tell—and maybe telling it to someone with similar experiences can help him—”

Me—him—talk it out?

“I see that expression you’re making.” Arimoto chuckles for a moment. I hear him settle back into the silence. “Mylo’s father was an SAO player—a scout for dungeons, boss rooms and information brokers from what I hear.”

“That’s dangerous work.” I admit. Scouting parties and information brokers were invaluable for the front lines after Beta testers lost the advantage of intel from experience in later floors.

“I imagine he did it out of necessity.” Arimoto says. “Like many players trapped in the game, he wanted to get back home to his family as quickly as possible, and he had the real-world experience of military service and tactics to back up his position. Aside from the fact that he and his son were avid gamers of course.”

Wait—I put down the binoculars.

“So Mylo didn’t—he was never in SAO? Even though they gamed together?” I ask.

“His father put on the NerveGear first.” Arimoto shakes his head. “From what he’s told me, he didn’t receive his own until about a week later. By then, everyone was painfully aware of what was at stake—the consequences of putting on the NerveGear.”

“So they waited--” And hoped.

Arimoto leans back, eyeing Mylo again. He holds gaze over his sleep-like body for a while. Arimoto really cares about him. “It probably goes without saying—but his father never made it out.” Arimoto’s brows furrow.

\---

_“Besides, you’re not the only one who’s name didn’t make it in the book.”_

\---

Everyone lost something—I turn back to Mylo in the backseat. We have that in common.

“Ari—”

“Hold up.” Arimoto leans towards the windshield. I hand off the binoculars as he leans even closer. Movement?

“What is it?” I ask. I just see another group walking past the door, into the café. Nothing conspicuous yet.

“Eiji, unlock the backdoor, standby.” Arimoto calmly says. He sees something. I crouch through the van. Mylo’s body lays even further back. I click unlock on the backdoor.

“Those three people who went in; one of them was window shopping beforehand. Another one came in before.”

“So?”

“Just a hunch.” Arimoto grimaces as he strokes his chin. “Can’t hurt to be careful, right?”

I rub the cold central processing unit of the exo-suit, attached at my nape.

“I need you to go inside and just check things out. But, if you get a bad feeling, I want you to rush back right away, got it?” Arimoto says.

The exo-suit enhances speed and reflexes. I should be ok. I zip up my jacket over the suit underneath. The clarity and balance in my movements--the adrenaline interweaving with a spark of nimbleness—my body feels as light as my ALO avatar. I can do this.

“Ready.” I roll the sliding door open and face daylight. Yuna—I turn back to them, diving in the back seat. “Look after them.”

“Will do, kid.” Arimoto smiles.

I hop out and pace down the alleyway. The van engine coughs from behind--Arimoto’s starting the engine, just in case. Fair, we don’t know what to expect. The ambient city surrounds this place in bustling sound, but it’s fading back—to my heart—racing. Yuna’s doing her part. Everyone is. I can do this. Kirito wouldn’t hesitate. I feel a chuckle slip out as I step up to the door, pull the handle, and walk inside—a bell ring—don’t get startled, it’s just to let the employees know.

I’ll buy something at the front—scan around while I’m walking—I see the girl leaning on her friend in the booth: shoulder-length dark hair. She looks asleep, but there’s an Augma around her ear—definitely full-diving with lookouts. Sanji’s friends? There’s two others sitting across from her. Four in the booth total there—now, the group that just walked in—up ahead: A middle-aged couple, a woman with flame-red curls and dressed for summer with her arm wrapped around a tall gentleman wearing a baseball cap and shades—indoors. They’re just checking menu options above the counter.

Wait.

Where’s the third one?

Check every corner—check without making it look obvious—but, where are they? The café booths and tables are packed. No one besides myself and this couple are standing around.

“Excuse me, sir?” A female voice.

I snap back in front of me. The woman with red curls smiles at me—it feels familiar.

“You can skip ahead of us, we’re still not sure.” She says.

“Uh, ok, sure.” Gotta work on my social small-talk. I step forward to the cashier. Just then—is that? I check my right—a second man in a baseball cap, moving to the back wall of the café just by the counter, out of sight for the cashier—to the fire alarm. He pulls it.

_They’re making a move._

The siren in the café wails to head splitting volume. Suddenly, every resident shoots up and out of the booth, confused.

“Please, keep calm everyone!” The cashier shouts. “Just move out in a calm orderly fashion while we figure out what’s going on!”

_The kids._

Everyone’s filing for the exit—where are they? I check the booth again. The dark-haired girl’s friend shakes her as she suddenly jolts awake—her full-dive’s been interrupted. She twists and turns in panic. The rest of her friends file out with her. I need to keep track of them—can’t lose sight. I’ll walk out too, with a few people in the evacuation between us. We cross into the outside. Confused clamor fills the streets as employees usher the crowd to wait a safe distance from the café. The kids from before stand in the middle of all of it. The dark-haired girl from before—she’s searching frantically. She grabs one of her friends. I listen, closely.

“I have to get back in there. Sanji—”

“It might not be safe here, lets go back to the dorms, or somewhere else.”

They break away from the pack. Should I follow them, or fall back to Arimoto? He’s seeing all of this right now, I’m sure.

Wait—if this is to get everyone out of the café—the kids run, already near the end of the block.

“No, wait!” I shout when I realize it—the ploy to get them out, spooked, and on the run towards—

An unmarked black van screeches at the end of the street. The kids abruptly stop before turning back to run the other way. The van door rolls open, and a squad of black masks grabs the dark-haired girl first. The 3rd-party.

No. Burst forward—I may not have my sword, but I can still move faster than any of them!

One of the masked assailants peeks up—they see me coming. They pull back into the van with the girl caught in their arm. Another slams the side as they slide the door closed. Tires squeal.

“No!” Push faster—gotta go faster! Adrenaline burns through my chest and legs—the tension in everything—as I push harder. With the exo-suit it should be easier, it should be, but—they’re getting further away as the van roars further and further down the street, slowly becoming just an echo. Damnit!

More tires screeching. I look left. The white van drives parallel to me, and the back-door slides open automatically as it drives. Arimoto’s focused through the windshield.

“Get in!” He shouts.

\---

YUNA

ALO: Present

>>Analyzing…Their code. There’s something off about it, the red one _and_ Sanji. It’s been bugging me since their announcement, and it matches the same pattern as the tent construction over the amphitheater. I hear their footsteps. I’m gaining on them. They couldn’t have gotten far, but if everything’s been compromised, why haven’t they just logged out, or transferred consciousness across The Seed? Could they be—

_Woah!_ A player avatar’s hand nearly knocked me out of air.

Zipping over the heads of player avatars crawling over each other in hoards is difficult enough. Hopefully Mylo can hold off the crowd and catch up, but I don’t know how that’ll be possible.

Eiji—Naut—I hope he’s safe. I know he’s doing his best on the other side. I have to do the same; we’re in this together, and we’re not a lone anymore.

We need to focus—forward!

I propel to the backstage of the amphitheater. It’s shrouded in shadows as the crimson lighting of the tent cuts off here, and the giant crumbled stone wall on stage secludes this back half. I’m on my own for now, and the footsteps of those two have stopped. Did I lose them?

>>Analyzing…Checking player registry…Log data? [Yes]…Loading…

Weird.

Sanji’s player data—there’s no recent logins past the date Mylo and Arimoto intercepted him. That means—

A two-handed great sword narrowly misses as it swings from the edge of the dark. A fight.

>>Load Player Avatar? [Yes]…Loading…

We have to change form—we gave Mylo our word.

I can feel it, the proportions of my body shifting, becoming heavier but more grounded, stronger—more like myself back then. I leap backwards with that weight. A knife sheath and buckle wrap around my waist, and I can feel the familiar skills returning to me like an old reflex, just buried under the code. Based off what Mylo said, my other form feels like a shade—in this form the veil’s lifted. Now—

“Stop hiding in the shadows.” I say. I draw my dagger and take up stance in front of the shadows. It’s coming.

Another wide swing of the great sword, this time downwards, with a return of the blade, pulling backwards, to cut through me—I summon the silver great shield to hover beside me and ricochet the sword as it chisels in sparks across the shield’s surface and returns to the shadows. The hands wielding it move into the dim crimson light. What should be Sanji slowly steps out of the dark with a dissatisfied expression.

We can see it—that corrupted red code—it’s flowing all throughout him.

“Who are you?” I murmur.

Sanji readies his great sword by taking up stance, waiting for another opening. He smiles.

>>PROXIMITY WARNING.

I duck immediately. A kama swings just over my head, and I feel the air shift from the strike as I leap back— _SANJI_ —the great sword swings for me again with my back turned as I summon my great shield to cover me. His sword strike rebounds off the surface. I look forward. The masked player in red appears out of the shadows, wielding a kusarigama. I jump to the side, building distance between him and “Sanji”. I can’t get caught in the middle of them like that—need to keep them both in my view.

But this is bad. I expected to tail them, not fight two-on-one, and I’m primarily a support build. How long can I hold off a build with range and AGL and another that’s clearly built for STR?

Shake it off—we can do this. Everyone’s relying on me. I have to hold them here.

“Who are you?” I stall.

“You must’ve come late to the presentation, Yuna.” Sanji smugly grins. “You know, we weren’t expecting such a noteworthy guest of honor, but since you’re here—” He takes up stance, his sword in both hands and by his right waist, now. “I think we’ll be taking you. You’ll be useful to the cause.”

It’s a trap.

They dash in opposite arcs around me—they’re trying to wedge me between their attacks again. Can’t get caught! Switch to reverse grip on the knife—I need to stay on the defensive first!

The great sword swings to my right; the fundo from the red one’s kusarigama swings to my left—swinging from the rear— _duck_ —the fundo and its momentum whips overhead as another summoned great shield materializes in the path of Sanji’s Great sword. Counter moves.

>>Loading…navigation pixie.

I pop into the smaller figure and dart from their positioning.

>>Loading…Player avatar.

Still with the reverse-gripped knife but triangulated between them and with distance. They rush forward again. This time the iron-weight fundo leads with a vicious wail, swiping the air in my face again and again—they’re pushing me further and further back.

_Sanji._

I spot him running to my side for an opening as he lunges his sword in for a thrust--summon the <Great Shield>! Another block against the Great sword, but I feel a tug on my knife hand. I look down. The metal chain and fundo are wrapped around my blade, and the red one is advancing. He snaps back the handle on his sickle as the knife escapes my grip.

_Not good!_

Sanji ducks and pivots to my rear, preparing another wide swing as the red one draws back his sickle to strike—I’m caught between them with no counter-attack—I summon twin great shields for my front and rear as both strikes collide and grind with the shield’s surface. I have no other immediate moves. Can I get to the knife?

I barrel roll between the hovering shields and twist around, just in time for the sickle to swipe against my shoulder, drawing red code to spill into the air. The pain is real for someone like us.

I clutch my wound, but they’re attacks are unrelenting—they’re giving no space to recover and think. I have to keep up. I promised Naut.

_The sickle_.

I grab the red one’s swinging arm and draw him in, digging the sickle into my shoulder—even through the searing pain—I can’t stop now; the chain follows the momentum, and I lift my arm to ring it around like a gauntlet. The red one’s momentum pulls forward as I jerk that arm back.

< _Great Shield >._

The hovering shield appears between us, blocking the red one’s momentum with a heavy slam as he crumbles to the hard rock stage floor. I leap back now—I don’t know when Sanji will make his counter move.

_Clap. Clap. Clap._

I look up. Sanji claps his hands in an ovation. He’s been standing there.

“It seems we underestimated you!” Sanji cheers. “We could really use someone with your spunk for our cause.”

“What is your cause?” I look Sanji up and down again. Now I’m sure of it: that adjustable code, he’s shifting his appearance in-game to look like Sanji.

“I thought we made that clear at today’s event.” Sanji frowns as he facepalms.

“You’re not fooling anyone. You’re not really Sanji.” I say.

“Oh?” Sanji devilishly grins. “I forgot, you can see the truth of this reality for what it is. You’re just like me.”

I knew it. An advanced A.I., hybrid, with real-world memories from a past life—but are they Sanji’s? Would that still make this the same person?

“Is Sanji really dead?” I ask.

“Yes,” The imposter smiles. “But his legend among the community as a martyr—well, who’s to say he won’t live on in the stories they’ll tell?”  
“It’s a lie.”

“Who’s telling?” The imposter laughs.

“What do you really want?” I ask. His words are dancing in circles.

“I already told you.” The imposter just grins. The red one clambers off the floor with their masked cracked and crumbling. Blue pixels frizz around it until it dissipates. As the face rises, I see his empty dark eyes, his short black hair with long bangs, and a twisted smile. He pulls back his long red sleeve and reveals a golden apple insignia on his forearm.

I know that insignia—Eiji read to us about a guild with one from the SAO incident report.

“It’s not a lie, _entirely_.” The imposter glows. “Grimlock here was one of the first in line to take the risks of digitizing consciousness—something about not being able to live with himself in the real world anymore—I’d say it worked out pretty well for him.”

Grimlock adjusts his collar and lowers his sleeve; another kusarigama slides out of its shadow and into his hand.

“We just need more devout volunteers to make it _real_ for everyone else.” The imposter continues. “1 in 1000 is a lofty chance, but why else would he send us the technology if it wasn’t his intention to make it happen?”

“Kayaba?” I say.

“How observant.” The imposter snaps his fingers. He slings his Great sword just over his shoulder. “Anyways, you’ll be a big help to progressing our success rate—mapping the human brain and integration with full-dive VR is so tedious. You’re another perfect example of real-world and virtual A.I. integration. Who knows, maybe we can make it 1 in 100 instead. Wouldn’t you want to take part, to limit any potential casualties?”

“You can’t do this.” I take up stance. “I won’t let you.”

“In the end, they’ll _chose_ to.” The imposter takes up stance. Grimlock too.

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

Mylo?

Everyone turns towards the shadows--to the direction of the stage. Mylo staggers forward, shoulder’s hunched and head downbeat with red pixel scarring all over his avatar. The Sonic Buster drags by his side. His body stiffens then sways beside me, but his eyes turn upward, glaring at both Grimlock and The Imposter.

“Tell me. Where is he?” Mylo growls.

“Who are you again?” The imposter tilts his head with a grin—teasing.

“The fact that you don’t know means Umbra was right.” Mylo swivels the Sonic Buster in front of us to defend. He turns to me—I know he can see the sickle dug into my shoulder. Now that he’s here, I have a moment to heal myself.

<Fast Heal>. The pain dissipates as the wound closes. The sickle falls out and clangs to the stone floor. Mylo nods to me. I cast <Heal>. Green aura surrounds him as his HP returns to green. He straightens his posture and takes up an offensive position.

“You wanted to know how good we were in a fight.” I say.

“You gained my trust long before now.” Mylo leans in. He surges forward as the imposter rears back his sword, and Grimlock sidesteps to swing his fundo. It’s two-on-two now; we’re not alone.

<Great Shield>!

\---

Eiji

Tokyo: Present

_We can’t let them get away!_

Arimoto floors it as the van rushes by cars in the street, pursuing the Black Van. It’s exiting for a freeway. Cars swerve around us, but Arimoto focuses, bearing forward on the wheel, saccades through the windshield. Mylo’s head bobbles in the backseat.

We’re gaining. The Black van has no plates, and the windows look tinted. Who are these people?

“Kid, can you take the wheel?” Arimoto grunts.

Wha?

Arimoto starts leaning off the wheel; my hands take hold on instinct. My foot replaces his on the gas.

“Switch!” I yell. Arimoto eases out of the driver’s seat as I replace him. We’re side by side with the Black van now as Arimoto struggles to the back of the van behind the sliding door. I hear the click of a magazine in the back.

“Wait! What are you--”

I see the Black Van slide it’s door open, but a gun cracks—shots fired—from our side. The black door fully opens as Arimoto slides ours open and locks it as the wind screams inside the van. He jumps.

\---

Mylo

ALO: Present

Yuna’s shield can cover my blind spot. I’m going for Grimlock first; we need to immobilize him, get him off the board so we can focus on the red one—who knows what tricks he has.

I feel the light advantage of this body as my feet kick off the stone floor. I rear back the Sonic Buster and sprint forward. I’m going to get close inside the range of that steel ball weight—if all he has is the sickle, he can’t guard against blades with strength stats this high.

I duck under the first swing of Grimlock’s steel weight on the chain—roll under the second—I can see the dim illumination of the chain as it comes in; my body’s light enough to react.

_Great Sword._

I see the fake Sanji charging for my side with his Great Sword glowing, an activated sword skill <Vorpal Strike>, but Yuna’s Great Shield appears between us and blocks it. As the shield dissipates, I swing the lower end of The Sonic Buster for good measure, to build even more distance between us as the Fake backs up to dodge. He swivels about-face to ready his Great Sword again in stance.

Just then, I hear Yuna panting as her footsteps tap on the stone and push forward. Fighting these guys must’ve given her some confidence to advance on offense in 1-on-1 combat. She’s going after Grimlock as he rears the steel weight again on the chain. She needs to get in fast.

“Yuna!” I shout setting one of Sonic Buster’s blades horizontal, and low to the ground. I hope she understands; I’ve never done team moves before.

“Right!” Yuna leaps forward, and I swing the flat of the blade against her feet <Reverb: Repulse>! She launches. Grimlock can’t even pull back the chain in time; A flicker of crimson light appears in Yuna’s grip, her knife, as she shoots straight for Grimlock, raising his sickle to guard.

_Double Time._

I switch blade ends. <Reverb: Repulse>! The sonic wave clashes against the stone floor as obscuring dust kicks up. Yuna’s avatar disappears into the thin cloud, Grimlock screams after. Hopefully she pinned him.

“Clever! Clever!” The fake Sanji swings for me as I block and parry. “A skill that uses Sound energy—how troublesome—we’ll definitely have to remove you.” His weapon glows again, readying another sword skill as he lunges, and I swing. A sharp chime resonates.

\---

Arimoto

Tokyo: Present

Barrel in!

Three in masks: One driver, two in the back—the girl laying in the back—looks drugged. A fist swings for my face—block, shin kick—

_Duck_.

Another fist. I grab the arm of the assailant as the wind and tires screech behind me from the open door; the van is coming to a halt. Two of us slam into the backs of the front row seats—shake it off. The girl. She’s priority.

One of the assailant’s pulls a gun in the darkness of the van; I wrestle their partner crumpled beside me and grab him as a body shield.

They won’t fire. The assailant just stands there, pistol raised. Suddenly the van rocks violently; something hit us—Eiji’s driving—I throw the assailant over the gunman; they both fall over, and the gun clacks against the floor of the van. Gotta get it out of here. I kick the gun out into the open-air. Eiji’s still keeping up side by side in the white van—great driving, kid—I hurry to the back and sling the unconscious girl over my shoulders. Suddenly this van screeches to a full stop.

Through the windshield I see that we’re in an alleyway. The two assailants slowly clamber to their feet, but a fist from outside swings for one of them, violently fast. Red circuit lines glow around the fist. The first assailant falls as I shoulder-charge the second. The driver twists around with pistol drawn as leap out of the open door—Eiji’s just ahead of me—the fist must’ve been his. That exo-suit makes him run at a blitz pace. He makes it to the van first and presses the gas as I slump the girl inside with a running start and crawl in. Bullet’s whiz across the top frame as I slam the sliding door shut. We’re out.

\---

Mylo

ALO: Present

“I’ve got him pinned!” Yuna shouts as the dust cloud dissipates. She has Grimlock pierced with her knife through his shoulder, and her great shields flattening his legs and fighting hand to the stone. She bears over him in her black and purple troubadour outfit. I can’t help smiling at the sight; She really did it.

I turn back as the pretender Sanji pants, leaning on his Great Sword.

“To be honest, I expected more.” I taunt. “At least the real Sanji showed guts when he got put on the ropes in Alfheim.”

For a split second a twitch appears around the pretender’s face, a glitch of pixels, stirring, revealing a different and harsher face before reforming back into the idealized Sanji avatar.

_Who are you?_

“Where’s Kayaba?” I ask, staying on mission.

He chuckles until it builds to laughter, and then—something manic. His body contorts as he holds himself in his arms—like he’s trying to keep himself together. His great sword dissipates. Suddenly, the entire red tabernacle glitches in pixels and vanishes instantly. The sun and blue-sky return over the Amphitheater.

“Hilarious! You know, if she understood even half her potential, you wouldn’t even need to ask that question.” The pretender catches his breath. He looks over at Grimlock writhing and still pinned down. “Sorry, Grimlock. You were surprisingly faithful given your past transgressions.”

_Shit!_

I rush in—I have to stop him.

“Thank you for your sacrifice.” The pretender smiles.

“Yuna! Move!” I manage to shout.

Glitching pixels appear on the stone floor surrounding Grimlock. Yuna leaps back, and stone spikes erect from the floor, impaling Grimlock while lifting him off the ground. Red polygons spill from his mouth—he’s totally a part of this world now—he can feel all of that. I don’t want to see another dead body, not again—I turn back to the pretender as he backs away slowly, hands raised like he just got caught for a minor crime—not murder.

“GAH!” I swing my sword with everything I have, all the rage towards Kayaba, the lives he’s destroying, the gesture this pretender just made—like all of it is just a small price to pay in a larger game.

And that smile. The pretender just smiles as he simply lifts his arm, catches the blade, and lets it slice through. Red pixels pour out, he should be feeling it, but then he simply lunges forward and swings a fist with his intact arm, smashing into my temple.

My head pounds as it hits the dirt. I look up as I lie on my side. The fake Sanji blocks out the sun with his head as he grins over me. His pixilating chopped arm lies beside me.

“Worth it.” The fake Sanji’s avatar dissipates into blue pixels like simulating log out, but he’s gone—somewhere into cyberspace.

“Mylo!” I hear Yuna. She rushes beside me—I’m too tired to move, or maybe just too beaten today. Somehow, I always end up eating the ground. Yuna starts to help me up, but then pauses. She looks over the pixilating red arm that the Fake Sanji left behind. Her hands graze over it with a bright flash.

“Yuna?” I ask.

“Hold on,” She says. “I’m going to analyze this data a little more closely.” The arm disappears, but it looks like Yuna’s clutching something, even if it’s only air. She does see the code differently than I do. “It will take some time though.”

“And Grimlock?” I ask.

Yuna just shakes her head. He’s gone.

“Let’s go home.” I groan as Yuna helps me up. The mission wasn’t a total failure; we learned a lot of important information. We just need to keep moving forward. The warmth of the simulated sun revives some of my spirits, but I hope Umbra’s ok.

\---

Umbra

Tokyo: Post-Mission

Everything’s groggy. There’s some light beaming in, but—gah, I can barely see. Why won’t my eyes adjust? Where am I? I was just in the café with everyone when—

“You two ok?” A gruff voice.

“I should be asking you guys, what the hell happened to the van?” A sharp voice.

“While you were gaming, we got into a high-speed chase.” A low voice.

I’ve been captured. I was loaded into a van. In fact, I can still hear an engine rumbling. I must be there. Why can’t I see?

“Gaming? Are you really going to demean your girlfriend’s hard work like that?”

Wait, girlfriend?

“You know that’s not what I meant; don’t twist my words—hey, get that smug look off your face.”

“Wanna duel again?”

“Booooys.”

What is going on? These—don’t sound like kidnappers—they make too much racket.

“Nah, don’t want Yuna to get upset when she has to take care of you again after.”

“BOYS.”

Yuna? Wait, that voice—it sounded familiar, and it said Yuna. My vision’s getting clearer. I can make out hazy outlines, definitely car seats, and that blinding light is coming from the windshield—with four figures or outlines in front of it. Blink. Blink. C’mon clear up damnit!

“Um, I think she’s coming to.” A voice that definitely sounds like Yuna from earlier.

Could this be—

“Hold up, I’ve got eye drops.”

A blur fills my sight again, but when I blink, suddenly the faces resolve. Two in the front seat of a van: One with sandy hair and stubble under his sharp chin, adjusting his glasses, a brown-haired kid with lull brown eyes and a confused expression, Yuna, the AR popstar, a welcome familiar face, and what looks like an African-American kid with black hair in twists tied back, and intense eyes—intense eyes that are elevating the creep factor—creep factor—wait— _Mylo_.

I immediately crawl back, but there’s nowhere to go.

“Who the hell are you guys?!”

The four of them look at each other, maybe waiting for someone to speak up, but for a moment they look like they’re just smiling at each other, relieved. They all sigh and sink into their seats. They look too tired to answer.


	7. Reprieve/Regroup and Rally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team looks to wind-down post-mission. The full breadth of Kayaba's plan may have come to light.

Eiji

Tokyo: July 31st 2026, 20:21-post-mission

“THANK YOU FOR THE MEAL!” The table gives gratitude for Julia’s cooking, tasting even better post-exhaustion. Everyone’s still sinking into their chairs in the Arimoto’s dining room. No one’s really said much since we got here—Umbra hasn’t come out of the room Julia offered her.

“She hasn’t come out since we got here.” Yuna murmurs at the table. Everyone can see her through the augma—Mylo’s outspoken recommendation—to make Yuna feel like part of the group. They’ve gotten close.

“Give her some time,” Arimoto sighs. “She’s mourning her friend.”

“And she’s in a house full of strangers.” Julia adds.

Mylo only gazes down. He hasn’t spoken the entire meal. Silence falls around the table again. Julia fills it with a clap.

“Still, I’m glad everyone enjoyed the food. You all deserve some rest after a mission like that one.” Julia glows.

“Thank you for letting us stay over.” Yuna remarks, matching Julia’s radiant smile.

I nod along. Arimoto and Julia have offered their home to us, at least until we can guarantee that the 3rd party won’t come to our residences. Watching Umbra get snatched up like that, and in public—

“Don’t mention it.” Julia smiles. “This nest looks like a cozy couple’s home, but it’s an old JSDF safehouse Ari and I picked out when he took on this mission. Off the books now, of course.”

It’s funny to imagine a super-spy couple living together—like something out of an action movie. They have such great chemistry too. I look at Yuna, enjoying herself, smiling and surrounded by warm faces. I think this is the first time she’s been able to deeply interact with people besides myself outside the gaming worlds—since her A.I. fused.

“Yuna,” Julia stands up, collecting plates. “I’m going to check on Umbra first, but would you like me to show you around?”

Arimoto takes the plates from Julia and crosses into the kitchen to start rinsing. They simply smile at each other.

Yuna’s ruby eyes turn to me as if asking permission. Is this separation anxiety? My heart skips a beat, but I make myself nod. She doesn’t need my say; it’ll be good for her to interact with others. Yuna floats over the floorboards and gently lands beside Julia, ushering Yuna upstairs. For a moment Yuna turns back to me and smiles; I make one back at her. She really did come back ok after all.

“Well, well,” Arimoto calls from the kitchen with a higher pitch than usual. “Since the ladies are having their own night—” He sets a bottle of Sake on the counter.

\---

The summer breeze whips warm air across the back porch of the Arimoto residence. The moon phases into a sharp crescent above the clouds, and streetlights buzz with cricket chirps all around the block. It’s bright out tonight. Maybe that’s why I’m still feeling wide awake—maybe a little dizzy too. That last one might be the Sake.

“Eiji, you good?” Arimoto smiles with flushed cheeks. He reclines on a patio chair and sets his empty glass down.

“Actually—this is my first time—”

“First time, what?” Arimoto tilts his head.

“First time having—alcohol—with strangers I mean.” Why am I mumbling? Speak up. “Thank you for the drink!”

Mylo bursts laughing—first time I’ve seen it. What’s so funny? What’s he getting cocky about?

“You _are_ 20, right? That’s the legal age here?” Mylo chuckles while sipping, leaning back against the wooden balustrade.

“How old are you?” I ask. Now that I’m looking at him, he might be a bit shorter than me IRL, by just a few hairs at least. Is his game avatar taller?

“Twenty-three.” Mylo hiccups.

Yeah right. “You could be faking that as part of the cover Kikuoka gave you.” Why do I even care? Maybe it’s that smug glint in his eye when he thinks he’s beaten me at something, and it’s always mixed with that dry tone—like he’s pretending he doesn’t care when he’s actually reveling in it all. You can’t win at being born earlier. “I bet Mylo’s not even your real name.”

“It’s not.” Mylo simply says.

“Huh??” I ask.

“It’s not.” Mylo dryly repeats.

What the hell? “Then what is?”

“Like I’d tell you.”

Ooooooh he’s reveling in this too now.

Arimoto drops a loud sigh. Suddenly the back-door slides open on wooden tracks. We all turn. Umbra stands at the threshold barefoot, living room lights at her back. Her jet-black hair glistens so bright under moonlight that it turns deep navy—it’s like crow feathers. No, I—probably shouldn’t tell her that. She bundles herself in a hoodie as her slender legs step outside in shorts.

“Arimoto-sensei? Your wife was asking for your help with something.” Umbra says with a shaky voice. She sounds tired. Arimoto just nods.

“Don’t finish the rest.” Arimoto glances at Mylo and the sake bottle. He steps back inside. For a while Umbra just stands there, trading intense stares with Mylo. Does he start fights with everyone he meets? What’s drunk verbal sparring from Mylo like?

“What?” Umbra finally says.

“What?” Mylo talks back.

“You’re making a face.” Umbra responds with a matching dry tone.

“What’s wrong with my face?” Mylo’s voice drops even deeper, monotone.

A chuckle escapes—I can’t help it. This is ridiculous, now there’s two of them.

Umbra groans and crosses her arms. Mylo takes another sip of sake. His cheeks are looking rosier by the hour. I’m just waiting for who’s going to get in the last word.

“Idiot.” Umbra sighs. She turns back inside.

“Umbra,” Mylo murmurs. Umbra pauses.

“ _What?_ ” She hunches, back turned.

“Would you like to join us?” Mylo asks. “Eiji needs girl advice.”

What?? “What the hell are you talking about?”

Umbra turns around and huffs. Her cheeks puff as her eyes dart between Mylo and me. Is this a ploy to get her to come out and interact—at my expense?

“Well, he certainly can’t get it from you; you’ve got no skills when it comes to talking with women.” Umbra remarks.

“No, just you.” Mylo dryly says. “Threatening with a knife isn’t how flirting works.”

“Shut up.” Umbra responds.

I can’t help laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Umbra changes targets and turns to me now. “If you’re having trouble with a girl, you shouldn’t be laughing.”

I cross my arms and look away, copying Mylo’s indifference.

“You know,” I say. “With all the tension, you’d think there’s a romantic connection stirring between you two.”

“AS IF.” They both shout.

“Great job deflecting.” Mylo says.

“Who’s the poor girl?” Umbra asks. She’s engaged now, and maybe it’s the lighting, but there’s red swelling under her eyes—the mark of tears. I see what Mylo’s doing here. I’ll go along.

“It’s complicated.” Actually, Yuna and I seem to be doing better after the mission, but—maybe it’s just our feelings getting excited after the adrenaline rush of the mission.

“It’s Yuna by the way,” Mylo adds.

“Dude!” I was working my way up to that.

“Transparency.” Mylo parrots Arimoto’s line—I don’t think that’s how it works in this situation.

“Really? Wait—how does that work?” Umbra rubs her chin.

“Like I said, it’s complicated.” I lean out on the wooden boards. I didn’t expect to work with these feelings right now. “A while back, Yuna’s A.I. merged with the memories of the person she was based on—someone precious to me—before they—passed.”

“So Yuna’s not that same person?” Umbra asks.

“I don’t know anymore.” I admit. I stare up at the moon. “She has all of the same memories. Sometimes she even _is_ that person—I think, but—she’s also different now.”

I feel Mylo lean beside me, facing the opposite way, actively listening for once.

“So what?” Umbra huffs.

“Huh?”

“So what if she’s different now?” Umbra closes her strained eyes. “My best friend lied to me about what was really going on with him, probably because he was scared. If I’d been more open to the changes going on with him—maybe he’d still be—” She pauses. “Sorry, I don’t mean to push my experiences on yours; I know they’re different.”

Umbra leans on the wooden rail with us, looking out to the moon. A summer breeze blows by again. She wipes under her eyes—more tears. “We can feel when we’re changing, ya know? Sometimes that’s scary—when we don’t recognize our old selves anymore. Think about how she’s feeling. Who can she go to about it? Who will listen to her while she finds herself again and again? Maybe the expectations from people who remember our old selves with rose-colored glasses holds us back—maybe that’s why—Ugh, you’ve got me rambling now.” Umbra runs a hand through her hair, flustered.

“Not that it’s too much my business,” Mylo adds. “But she was talking about being unsure how you felt about her. If you know you care about her, let her know it doesn’t matter if she’s changed. You’ll still be there for her, right?”

Her memories, my doubts—I am lucky to still have her here with me. And today, maybe we broke the curse SAO left on us. She did make it back, and this time, we didn’t just protect each other.

“Oh? I’m surprised you actually have good relationship advice.” Umbra verbally jabs Mylo, echoing my thoughts.

“You’ve known me for a day.” Mylo shoots back.

“I can tell a bozo when I see one.” Umbra says. “I’ve never seen sake return someone’s senses.”

“I told you, knives shouldn’t be used to make introductions.” Mylo repeats.

“Saying a lot from someone who came to carve up my entire guild.” Umbra pouts.

“I wasn’t trying to make—” Mylo trails off, then hiccups. “Forget it.”

“Huh? What was that?” Umbra leans in and elbows him. She wears the first smile I’ve seen from her, a prideful one. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She turns back to me. “Anyways, just talk to her, man. It’ll work itself out.”

“Real talk.” Mylo adds.

“Real talk?” Umbra and I ponder.

“Sorry, American phrasing.” Mylo’s cheeks turn red under the moonlight.

“Ah! You’re American?” Umbra ponders. “I did think Mylo was a weird name.”

“That’s not his real name.” I chime in.

“Huh??” Umbra recoils.

We laugh, the three of us in a row against the railing.

Mylo set himself up as Umbra’s verbal punching bag, and used our relationship talk to get her to open up. I remember what Arimoto told me, about Mylo’s father—maybe he knows what grief in isolation does—maybe he’s more emotionally intelligent than he lets on. Maybe he’s changing too.

“Eiji,” Mylo raises a glass of sake. “You protected Arimoto-sensei and Umbra today. I’m sure you can handle an honest conversation with Yuna.”

“None of which would’ve been possible without you protecting Yuna like you promised.” I nod back.

“Actually, it was more like she protected me.” Mylo actually smiles.

“Yeah, she does that.” I chuckle.

Mylo turns to Umbra. They deadlock dry stares again, but Mylo breaks the tension by breaking eye contact. He closes his eyes, like he’s searching for words.

“Umbra,” Mylo says. “Maybe you feel responsible for not knowing what was going on with Sanji. All I can say is that I’m truly sorry for what happened to him on my watch. I didn’t know him well, but he deserved better. I can tell that much by how deeply his friends cared about him, enough to pursue his murderers on their own.”

Umbra’s expressionless façade slowly shifts to a trembling lip and then the start of tears. She hangs her head low while overlooking the quiet street from the balcony. She hides behind her midnight black hair as it covers her face.

“I don’t know what you intend to do with everything you’ve learned, but we will find the ones responsible for his murder.” Mylo adds.

Umbra lightly nods to the sentiment.

The backdoor slides open. Arimoto, Jules and Yuna are standing on the other side with glasses in hand. How long were they there?

“That sounded like a rally, and a call for a toast.” Arimoto smiles. He grabs the sake bottle and begins pouring for everyone, a pour for Mylo and me, one for Yuna with the bottle capped as an after-image pours into a virtual glass in Yuna’s hands. Arimoto passes up Julia, of course, and hands her a glass of water. Everyone holds glasses in a circle for toast.

Umbra lifts her head. She turns to us.

“To Sanji.” Arimoto raises his glass. “To your old friend.”

“To Sanji.” Everyone toasts.

Umbra shyly shuffles to the circle as Arimoto hands her a glass. She softly chinks hers to ours.

“To Sanji.” Umbra toasts.

\---

Eiji

Tokyo: July 31st 2026, 21:30-post-mission

Everyone’s settling in for the night—after collecting ourselves. Arimoto slobbers off the side in a porch chair. Julia simply brings a blanket to lay over him—I guess he’s not going anywhere else tonight. She turns to me and smiles nonchalant.

“I’ve set up a bed for you where Mylo’s staying—I hope that’s ok.”

Oh no.

Won’t that create more tension? Maybe I should’ve risked staying back at my place after all.

“Don’t worry, he’s a tight sleeper. I’m sure it won’t be a bother, but—”

Julia looks over my shoulder. I follow her line of sight—to Yuna sitting on the edge of the porch balustrade, swaying her legs, carefree with her white hair glowing under the moonlight. She’s radiant, beautiful.

For the first time in a while, looking at her doesn’t bring back the past. It doesn’t hurt. If Mylo and Umbra are right, maybe we should talk. Is now ok?

“I’ll give you two a minute; she’s free to rest with Umbra if it makes her comfortable.” Julia bows as she rounds up Umbra and Mylo, wrapping each of their arms around hers. They stumble through the sliding door. Footsteps echo throughout the house. Julia will be a good mom for sure.

I turn back to Yuna. So carefree—I’d hate to ruin it. Maybe I should just—

“Hey, Eiji?” A.I. Yuna? “We’re actually pretty lucky, huh?”

“What do you mean?” I’m genuinely curious.

“We get a lot of second chances, I think.” Yuna’s ruby eyes gaze on the moon. “How many times we get to try again and experience life differently.”

That sounds like something—Yuuna would say.

“I think I’m starting to understand how to appreciate that—maybe.” Yuna smiles gently. A shooting star grazes the night sky. “That’s how we keep growing, right?”

Which one is it? Which Yuna am I speaking to? What should I say?

“Naut.” Yuna turns pouting at me before releasing the frustration with a smile. She sighs and gently drops from the balustrade to the porch. She stands before me. Our eyes meet.

It doesn’t matter.

“We are lucky, huh?” I repeat after her. Yuna nods.

“Yuna,” I start. The conversation on the porch—no, even before that—the conversation we had when this all started—I’ve been so caught on correcting my mistakes, not just with Ordinal Scale, but with SAO, with her. I’ve been trying to escape the past by growing stronger on my own, but I’m not alone—especially not anymore. We’re still here. I take Yuna’s hands—real or not, the augma provides a sensation of pressure in the touch between our palms and fingertips. There’s warmth there. It’s different from before, just like her. “Maybe we’ve changed a lot too, but—I’m going to make sure—that I always accept the Yuna standing in front of me. No matter what happens, and no matter what the future holds. As long as we have each other, it’ll be ok. I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to have the conviction to say that when you really needed to hear it.”

“You’re the bravest swordsman I’ve ever known.” Yuna smiles. She wipes away tears. “We’ll always be together. And this time, we have others around us. We don’t have to fight a lone anymore.”

“Yeah.” I smile. “We’ll be all right.”

We hold each other with the moon watching over us.

\---

Mylo

Tokyo: August 1st 2026, 09:00

Lying down hasn’t helped with the eyestrain, even when I close them. I couldn’t catch more than a few hours of sleep last night.

The A.I.

Digitized consciousness.

Kayaba’s Goal.

I can’t put the pieces together. He’s lurked the net since SAO was cleared, why move now? Why pass on his knowledge of high-output scanning to the masses? What’s the endgame?

Breathe. Five objects in the room—go: Ocean-painted covers in my hands, lit incense on the corner dresser--three more things: Sun reflecting off the Oak bookshelf’s glossy finish, the banzai between my bed and Eiji’s, Eiji’s tucked bedroll. He must already be up; I’ve got the room to myself.

I reach in the room cupboard and sift through the divide between Eiji’s belongings and my own. Underneath, I lift the false bottom—the unused NerveGear. We’re closer than ever before, so why does it feel like I’m so far behind finding Kayaba?

Deep breath. A pulse I didn’t know was racing slows down. Yuna has data to sift through—maybe she can find the fake Sanji, then we can make our move.

I roll over in bed. There’s less dull pain on my arms and legs now. At least the bruises from four nights ago are finally healing.

\---

“GO! GO! GO!” I immediately hear Yuna first. Our space feels different now with the house being so—active.

I tread downstairs, bare feet curling on cold hardwood, and past the dark corner of drywall hiding half the stairway. Yuna and Umbra are in pajamas at the living room table watching TV.

“And today! More highlights from GGO’s 3rd Squad Jam!”

MMO Stream? I walk in. Jules isn’t here. Arimoto-sensei and Eiji are watching from the kitchen while prepping something—smells good though—an aroma of pepper and spices wafts around. Knocks on a chopping block echo across the room—Eiji’s putting in work there.

Maybe the house being active isn’t so bad.

“Oh! Mylo! Come watch!” Yuna leans over the back of the chair at the dinner table. She waves me over as I slouch to her and Umbra. Eiji and Ari probably have kitchen duty covered.

“You sleep in pretty hard. Didn’t take you for the slothful type.” Umbra remarks.

“Beautiful people worry about beauty sleep.” I shoot back—almost automatically. Driest voice possible. Umbra’s forehead creases, got her.

I turn to MMO stream on the TV. People usually watch this in-game. On broadcast: flashes of gunfire and red pixels flying along a beachhead. A squad of players move in sync along a coastline with jagged rocks. One in camo looks comically small to be dual-wielding grenade launchers, another in bulk that fits the aesthetic more, and—wait—those two look familiar: a little one wearing all pink—the floppy ears on her knit cap make her look like a rabbit, small enough to be one too, and—a tall slender woman, all black, with—crosses on her cheeks—weren’t those two there when Arimoto-sensei—the footage immediately cuts back to the reporter, a blonde with cat ears.

“Oh! We apologize for cutting out from the footage, but a special announcement is just underway, courtesy of RATH. And you don’t wanna miss it!”

Huh?

Footage cuts to a small podium stage crowded by reporters. Camera lights flash as a petite young woman with short straight black hair approaches the podium. Dr. Rinko. I’ve never met her, but Kikuoka and Arimoto-sensei have mentioned her before in passing. I’ve also read her files in the classified SAO incident report, her connection to Kayaba. If she’s heading RATH now, it’s no wonder Kikuoka didn’t want to approach her about our operation.

“Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedules,” She starts. “Today, our organization is announcing the birth of the world’s first true artificial general intelligence.”

Wait, the Alice reveal— “That’s today?”

“Huh?” Yuna and Umbra turn to me. I hear Eiji stop chopping in the kitchen. I turn back to Arimoto-sensei. Our eyes meet. Eiji and Arimoto-sensei come around the kitchen counter and take seats at the table too.

“Wait, do you two know about this?” Eiji asks me.

“We knew it’d be soon. We’d been so busy with our ghost hunt that this was honestly the last thing on our minds, I think.” Arimoto says.

Everyone glues to the TV. More camera flashes reflect in Dr. Rinko’s green eyes. The resolution’s so clear I can make out her freckles. I’m taking in every detail of this moment because—

“And now, allow me to introduce…Alice!” Dr. Rinko makes way for the blonde girl confidently crossing the stage to the podium as her long blonde braid waves behind her. She’s wearing a school uniform—she looks so ordinary. No one would be able to tell she’s in an artificial body from the screen.

To the rest of the world, this’ll change what it means to be human.

“She’s so pretty—” Yuna trails off, her mind’s on a totally different wave. I guess this is pretty exciting though.

“Wait, you and Yuna knew about Alice before though, right?” I turn to Eiji. They had to have known—to have taken part in the War in Underworld.

Eiji simply nods. “The gist of the situation was explained to us, but even still—”

“Who knew it’d come to this?” Umbra murmurs. “I’d heard rumors in ALO, but—”

Alice gives a knightly bow on stage. As she rises, her deep blue eyes smile.

“People of the real world, I’m pleased to meet you.” She says. “My name is Alice. Alice Synthesis Thirty.”

\---

_“He’s told us himself: Tomorrow, something new will be unveiled upon the world. It will shake the very foundation of what it means to be human.”_

\---

Why would the fanatics time their announcement to tie-in with this one?

“Mylo?” Yuna snaps me out of it.

“Leave him be,” Umbra stares into the TV. “Keep listening.”

“At this moment, I’m sure that many of you would feel uncomfortable if asked to acknowledge artificial Fluctlights as humans and to grant them human rights.” Dr. Rinko persists through the Q&A. “But in another century, or perhaps two centuries, we’ll be living in the same society as them, as a matter of course, interaction with them without discrimination, even marrying into families with them. That’s what I firmly believe. And if that’s the case, shouldn’t we shy away from treating them as objects and abusing them?”

“But Doctor!” A reporter insists, standing and almost pleading. “Their existence is too different from ours! How can we possibly acknowledge man-made machines as being the same as humankind?”

“I feel bad for the little lady up there. Has to sit up and take this dribble.” Arimoto groans.

Public resistance had to be expected though. Who knows how the rest of the world feels watching this right now?

Alice takes charge on the mic. She’s surprisingly composed.

“I acknowledge and accept the fact of you real worlders as our creators. I am grateful to you for creating us. But as another person born in my world once said, what if the real world is also a world created by others?” Alice digs into the reporter. “What if there were even more creators outside it? If one day, your own creators appeared before you and ordered you into slavery, what would you do? Would you grovel on the ground, pledge your loyalty, and beg for mercy?”

“She’s advocating for human rights, poignantly, I might add.” Arimoto-sensei smiles. “I like her spunk.”

Alice’s steady composure relaxes on screen, she even smiles.

“I have already had many interactions with real worlders.” She says. She places a hand over her heart, genuine. “I am all alone in a strange world, but they’ve encouraged and supported me. They’ve taught me many things, and taken me to many places. I am very fond of them. And that’s not all. I even love one of these real worlders.”

Love?

“Love?!” Yuna and Umbra exclaim.

“That’s what got your attention, huh?” Eiji sighs.

“Whenever I think of this person,” Alice’s smile spreads, but she hangs her head low. “Whom I’m unable to see now—even this steel chest of mine feels like it’s about to burst.”

Reporters and attendees look awestruck—the idea of an A.I. truly feeling—truly being—human. It’s probably shocking the entire world, her sincerity.

Alice reaches out her right hand. “I have a right hand that I will extend to the people of the real world. But I will not fall to my knees or grind my forehead in the dirt. That’s because I am human.”

Dr. Rinko takes the mic now.

“Our hope is that, through the virtual world, you can all interact with newly-born artificial Flutlights, and this will change how you feel about them.” She says. “That’s all we ask of everyone watching this broadcast.”

That’s it.

Digitized consciousness—a new rise of humanity through artificial intelligence—blurring the lines—the chair groans across the floor as I shoot up and stand—and at the same time, it looks like something catches Alice’s attention too. Her gaze shifts away from the crowd of reporters. She looks surprised. She stands as the reporters watch her behavior, dumbstruck.

“I must go.” She simply says. “Please excuse me.”

She immediately turns and walks off stage.

“What the heck was that?” Eiji says what’s on everyone’s mind.

“Kid?” Arimoto-sensei looks up at me. He’s the only one that’s noticed my shift in mood. “What’s up?”

“I—I think I know why they’re doing this.” I stammer. The pieces are coming together. His goal’s the same as it’s always been—blurring the lines. “If you want the public to accept humanity born through the SEED NEXUS, what better way than to bridge the gap?”

Eiji’s eyes widen next. He’s already picked up on where my mind’s at.

“The world will accept artificial Fluctlights—if they can live just like them.” He finishes my thought for me.

The Ocean Turtle lockdown—the controversy—this new humanity’s fate is in the hands of the same government that jeopardized it nearly a month ago. But If human beings on this side simply became just like the artificial Fluctlights—blurred the boundary just a bit—

Kayaba knew it’d come to this. He’s going to take control out of the government’s hands—consequences be damned.

In the silence of the living room, we’re all processing the same thought. The end result isn’t necessarily evil, but the potential means—persuading people to undergo the high-output scan—

_BZZT!_

Arimoto-sensei’s chair vibrates. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his cell phone. The screen illuminates in the reflection of his eyes.

“Kikuoka-dono wants to meet at Kōhoku General.” Arimoto looks up at me first.

“I’ll come with you.” I was planning to visit Mom sometime today now that the mission is up. We couldn’t get in touch with Kikuoka last night. “Maybe he’s found something.”

“I’m also still analyzing data from ‘Sanji’s’ severed arm. The data is a lot to untangle so it’ll take some time, but I think if I can sift through it and find the source code, I can figure out where his A.I. at least came from—maybe even track his signature across the Seed Nexus.” Yuna adds.

Eiji backs out from the table. “And, in the meantime, Umbra and I can dive in, check in with her guild, and start spreading the word about the dangers of the high-output scan. Players need to know that whoever’s wearing Sanji’s face is lying. It might not lead to much, but it’s a start.”

“I do need to let my ALO guild know I’m all right.” Umbra says. “If I explain the situation to them, they’ll help.”

Everyone’s so determined. We’re starting to feel like a team.

“All right,” I nod. “Let’s get it done.”

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I am extremely humbled by anyone who took the time to read the beginning of SAO ALT: Specter. Thank you. This has been my first written fanfiction, ever, and It started when I wondered what a digital Kayaba manhunt might look like. I’m now excited to start putting that reality to the page. Please let me know what you think so far! I’ll try to keep to the pace of publishing one section every week-week and a half. Peace!
> 
> *P.S. So, this story was submitted to ff.net beforehand at about the end of November! I'll be updating on both sites, but I'm still getting a grasp for how to carry over my formatting to this site which is the cause of delay in getting the already published chapters over here, but I promise to do my best!*


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